Recovery
by Frieda van den Huetten
Summary: Jack lives story set in the months after the sinking. Memories are haunting Jack and Rose as they try to find peace in a small village. This is a story about their struggle to overcome the past and rekindle their exuberant passion for life - together!
1. Leaving New York

**A million thanks to G.W Failure for beta-reading!**

**RECOVERY PART ONE**

**Leaving New York**

May 1912

It was Jack's idea to leave the city. Both Rose and he were sick and tired of endlessly being confronted with the _Titanic_ disaster – the tragedy of the century – that had left the whole country in a state of shock and had journalists going absolutely crazy. Some reporters even went so far as to secretly board the _Carpathia_ before its arrival in New York to be the first to get exclusive first-hand information about the mourning survivors.

Newspapers were filled with speculations and rumors about the sinking – they hardly ever hit the mark and managed to unsettle even good-natured people like Jack.

It was Rose however, who put it in a nutshell. "I bet next week, they'll print a double page about a certain Mr. Hockley who heroically donated some insignificant amount of money in memory of the tragic death of his beloved wife-to-be!" she spat out, jumping up from the bench where Jack and she had taken their seats a few minutes ago. In disgust, she tossed the newspaper away that they had just found.

Shortly afterwards, she sank back on the bench like some force has just drained her of all her strength. Jack looked at her quietly for a moment. He couldn't see her face for she had covered it with her hands. He knew for one thing that her outburst was over and that her fit of rage has morphed into feelings of tiredness and helplessness. He knew it because this was exactly how he felt, too.

It was then, that he suggested leaving the city. "Just for a while. To wait until things have settled down a bit," he said, pulling her closer to let her burry her head in his coat.

She didn't cry, though. They just quietly sat like that for a while, both absorbed in their own thoughts and feeling strangely detached from the world. The next day, they took the train and left.

xxxxx

Money was not an issue, not yet. As survivors of the Titanic disaster, they were provided with everything they needed to get along during their first months in America.

"At least, all the publicity is good for _something,_" Jack had to acknowledge when they heard of the dozens of charity funds that were brought into existence.

Ironically, they had given far more money to charity than they received. Cal's money, which he had left in the pockets of the coat he had given to Rose, now belonged to an organization benefiting children orphaned by the disaster. It hadn't taken Jack and Rose very long to agree on that one. Naturally, they were both repelled by the idea of living off her fiancé's money. Plus, they both knew first-hand what it meant to lose the breadwinner of the family.

To get rid of the money was one thing. To agree on what to do with the diamond was another.

"Rose, seriously, that's the one thing I wished for to go straight to the bottom. You don't actually want to keep this, do you?" Jack moaned when she showed the priceless gem to him a couple of days after their arrival in New York. "Can't we give it to charity like the money you found in your pockets? This thing belongs to Cal just like his stacks of dollars," he added, making the name of her ex-fiancé sound like a swear word.

He obviously didn't get why she wanted to keep it. The only thing he saw in it was the trouble that it got him in when Cal was using it to frame him. For a moment, Rose was a little upset he didn't think of the sketch he did of her instead, since this – and only this –was what she had worn on the occasion.

"Charity? Do you seriously suggest we just walk into their bureaus in our ragged clothes with THAT?" she asked, waving the blue diamond in front of his face. "Either they'll throw us out or they'll have us arrested."

Jack just took a deep breath and looked at her tiredly. Finally becoming aware of his exhaustion, she regretted her sour tone. Obviously, the memory of his dead friends was still too fresh in his mind to have him thinking about their amorous adventures.

_Besides_, she silently confessed to herself, _the drawing is not why I want to keep it_. In fact, she had no idea why she did. "Look, I know this is hard to understand. I don't understand it myself. I just want to keep it for a while," she explained.

"Alright. It's yours, so it's your decision, I guess," Jack said after a brief pause and thus ending the argument. There was not a hint of reproach in his words – this was just what he thought. If this was her final decision, he was ready to accept it.

xxxxx

They didn't really know where to get off the train since neither of them knew the area around New York really well. They agreed on taking this decision on the spur of the moment while on the train. _Who knew, maybe they'd pass by a very picturesque Monet-like poppy field?_

However, through the slightly fogged up window of the train they saw nothing but bleakness. The weather was capricious today. They'd boarded the train in bright sunlight, but now, the sky was overcast with thick grayish clouds and even if there were poppies somewhere in the mist, they would hardly be distinguishable in the grey gloomy light.

After three hours, they left the train in a small village. Not because they took any particular liking in it; they were just unwilling to stand the dull ride any longer. Tired and irritated, they simply followed the first sign they could find which promised to lead to a room and some warm food. To make matters worse, a heavy rain started to fall, turning the dusty roads into muddy slippery foot traps in no time.

They had soon left the village close to the railway station and there were almost no more houses ahead of them, just endless fields and a little forest. But the sign had clearly indicated that the little track they'd been following now for quite some time was supposed to be a path.

Finally, they both realized that going back wouldn't be much help – they wouldn't be able to reach the station before dawn and finding a room after nightfall would be almost impossible. They didn't exchange many words during their trudge, which began to resemble more and more a forced march.

Neither of them could tell exactly how much time had passed since they had left the station when they finally arrived at a little farm house that seemed to be the one they had read about on the sign.

It was already beginning to get dark, so it was hard to tell if the house was in a good condition.

"What do you think?" Jack asked her as he opened the fence door.

"It has a roof," she remarked dryly and wiped a wet strand of hair from her eyes.

"And a water supply," Jack added, pointing to what appeared to be a well at the side of the house.

Jack's sense of practicability was lost on Rose who only shrugged, shivering in her wet clothes. "We don't have a choice anyway. Unless _you_ prefer to sleep outside in the rain. _I_, for one, am going inside now." She looked at him defiantly for a moment and then did as she said.

Jack sighed and followed her silently as she hurried to the door.

They had to knock several times until an old lady reluctantly opened the door to the width of a crack, eying them suspiciously.

Jack told her that they were looking for a room. The woman narrowed her eyes and Jack started wondering if they had knocked on the right door. _Maybe this isn't the house we are looking for._

"You're a bit late in the day," the lady finally mumbled with reproach but opened the door wide enough for them to take a step into the hall and out of the rain.

Now, seeing both of them in the light, she seemed to regret her decision to have let them inside of her house.

Looking at Jack's overly long hair and Rose's rather unconventional appearance disapprovingly, she snarled, "Do you have any money at all?" and then told them the price she had set up for the room. "Besides, I only have one room, not two," she added, apparently having noticed that neither Jack nor Rose was wearing a wedding ring.

"Just… show us the room," Jack said surprisingly friendlily given their current misfortune and the rudeness of their new landlady – at least in Rose's eyes – and proceeded to show her their money which was all wet and crumpled for he had been carrying it in his pockets all day long. Somehow it worked wonders.

Telling from the old lady's face, she seemed to undergo only a brief moment of conflict, then she forced her lips into a smile and slowly set herself into action by showing them the room – which, although small, was clean – as well as other compartments of the house they might need to know. Jack and Rose were barely listening and luckily for them, the woman really seemed to be quite indignant about their shady appearance and late arrival, so she didn't feel the need to mention anything that went beyond the necessary minimum of information. Alone at last, they changed out their wet close and went to bed.

Their landlady seemed to be under the misconception that she gave shelter to a pair of adulterers – a prejudice that did not exactly match their current state of relationship. Naturally, they shared a bed but aside from that, they were as chaste as can be. It was not that they didn't have feelings for each other anymore, but that they were still numbed with pain. At times, everything around them seemed so unreal, including the other and their love. At other times, they were overwhelmed by their emotions when all of a sudden, something that couldn't be contained any longer, surfaced. But just like Rose's tantrum on the bench, this never lasted long and even if one of them felt overflowing with tender feelings towards the other, he didn't quite know how to reach out to the other and felt their distance keenly.

It was only at night, that they were able to get closer to each other again and even share kisses or gentle hugs. But those were rather acts of support than forms of desire or lust. At least, it was then that they were able to revive their special kind of mutual understanding and complicity. As they lay in their bed that night, entangled in a hug and listening to the sound of the rain falling against the roof, it was again them against the world.


	2. Ghosts from the past

**Thanks to GW Failure for beta-reading!**

**Ghosts from the past - Jack**

In spite of the not so warm welcome, Rose and Jack decided to stay for a while. To their surprise, after a few days, the landlady seemed to be warming up to them a bit. But although taking some interest in her new tenants, she still avoided dangerous topics like the exact kind of relationship the two of them were cultivating.

Mrs. Sullivan for her part turned out to be widowed and living on the money her sons sent her sporadically and of the cash she earned by renting the room in the attic to transients. Hers was one of the few rentable rooms around; there was no doubt that they were in the middle of nowhere.

At first, this newfound solitude was a relief for them. They felt like they had finally found the rest they were craving for. But sometimes, the silence around and between them grew unbearably loud and they both discovered to their surprise that they were missing the bustle of the big city where they could blend in and eventually get lost in the great throng, the lights and the noises flooding their minds and letting their _Titanic_ demons sink into oblivion. Still, they weren't sure what to do. After all, the memory of the outrageous actions that the newsmen took in search of their own fame and to create a sensation was still fresh in their minds.

When the weather had cleared up a bit, they took long walks to get to know their surroundings. To their surprise, there were actually some nice sights here and there – a quaint little lake, some blossoming bushes at the side of the road… Maybe Monet wouldn't have cared enough to draw it, but anyway, they must have had incredible tunnel vision not to see it on their way to their new home.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Jack asked her, watching her reactions carefully.

She nodded, giving him a small smile that never reached her eyes. "It looks a lot nicer in the sunlight."

He was still thinking of what to say next when he spotted a little village in the distance. "Look what's there!"

Deciding to take a closer look at it, the two walked along the road to the group of houses.

The homes were small and a little shabby, yet one could see that their owners did their best to make their places look nice by cultivating flowers in their front gardens. At first, the houses seemed deserted, but then Jack remembered he had heard church bells from afar when he and Rose had left the house earlier, so he figured the locals were attending church service.

Wondering what kind of people lived in those houses, he studied one of them in detail, looking for clues. Besides the flowers, there wasn't so much to see in the garden and he couldn't peek through the windows, so he started fantasizing. _Just what might be behind that door?_

Suddenly, his mind wandered back in time…

_As Jack set foot though the front door of the house, he saw his parents quietly talking to each other at the kitchen table. He heard the voices of his sisters and brothers playing hide and seek in the backyard. Like the last time that he had seen them alive. Right now, he'd be asking his parents' permission to sleep outside in the fields that night because it was middle of summer and he couldn't stand the heat in his room…_

He quickly snapped out of it and as reality set back in, he wondered why this was happening to him. He remembered telling Rose about his family's death on the deck of the _Titanic,_ and of how he had told himself that he was at peace with the past. So why was this happening to him now? The house he was looking at did not even remotely resemble his old place! Why was his heart racing?

He took a deep breath and finally got his feelings under control. One glance at Rose reassured him that she hadn't taken notice of his flashback. _Good._ She had her back turned on him trying to pet a little black cat, but its former exchanges with humans must have not been so nice because it kept its distance.

She turned to him. "It won't let me pet it." She sounded almost offended, but nevertheless, gave a little smile.

"Well, who knows what's happened to it lately," Jack said more to himself than to his girlfriend. Living on the streets could be tough, especially if you were only nine inches tall. "Come on, let's get going," he prompted, careful not to let his voice give his troubles away.

She rose to her feet to catch up with him as he was walking away with determination. He didn't allow himself to take a last glimpse of the house – if he had he might have noticed the little handmade rag doll leaning on the doorsill. And if he'd taken a closer look at that, it would have struck him that his mother had once made a toy like that for each of his sisters.

They continued their walk in silence and by the time they got home, Jack had forgotten all about his strange daydream. Like a passing cloud, it had momentarily blocked out the sun. But now it was gone, leaving behind no traces of his existence. It wasn't until that night that the memories came back to haunt him in his dreams. But this time, they were to come as a thunder storm.

xxxxx

"_I feel like in a baking oven up there. Please mom, can I sleep in the fields, tonight?" Jack had just turned 15 years old and his parents found it increasingly difficult to deny him what he wanted. He thanked them and went upstairs to get his blankets._

_He had been living in this house all his life and he knew it like the back of his hand. The wooden floor squeaked as he walked on it, just as it always did. Nothing could have prepared him for the pain he felt in his hand as he touched the doorknob of his room and it burnt his hand._

_He whirled around and it shocked him what he saw. There were flames everywhere - on the handrail, the walls, the drapes, the ceiling... Alarmed, he tried to make it to the first floor as fast as he could but although he was running with all his strength, his legs felt like they were stuck in sand and he could barely move._

_Downstairs, a little black cat saved itself with a jump outside through the window on the first floor. He felt the heat of the flames right behind his back and pumped his legs as fast as he could. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the first floor, but the fire had already encircled the house. There was no escape!_

_He heard his brother scream from behind the kitchen door and flung it open. In the kitchen, his parents were still sitting at the table engaged in a quiet talk as if nothing had ever happened, or was happening to them right know. The kitchen table was like a peaceful island in a sea of fire._

"_Oh Jack, it's you! Didn't you want to spend the night outside? It's way past midnight, why aren't you asleep?" his mother mildly rebuked him._

"_The house is on fire. We have to find a way out together!" he wanted to scream, but his father seemed to already have guessed his thoughts. "Son, you can't save us. We're dead already. We've been dead for a long time, now. Aren't we, my dear?" he asked turning his face to his wife. The question must have been rather rhetorical for she only smiled at him and covered his hand with hers as the flames got hold of the edge of her nightgown. _

_He heard his brother scream again and suddenly he saw his youngest sister with her doll pressed tightly to her chest stepping through the flames and into the kitchen. Her dress was on fire, too, but she didn't flinch and her pale skin and blond hair appeared perfectly normal._

_The little girl just stood there looking at Jack for a moment and then turned around without saying a word to open a door that Jack had never known existed in his parent's house. It led into a small and windowless_ _room with four narrow bunks and a sink in it - much like the room that he and Fabrizio had been sharing on Titanic with the two Swedes._

_Fabrizio was sitting on his haunches in the corner of the room. The room was filled with smoke and the Italian was coughing hard. He didn't look up to see Jack._

"_I'm going to America," he managed to utter between coughs as Jack's burning sister put her hand on Fabrizio's back comfortingly."I'm not going to see my mama for a very long time"._

"_Fabrizio!" Jack screamed and Fabrizio had just started to slowly lift his head to meet his friend's eyes, when the kitchen behind them exploded with a loud bang!_

_Jack turned just in time to see a large piece of wood being catapulted in the direction of his head, but there wasn't enough time to duck away. Right before it hit him, he felt himself jolt back to consciousness without ever having seen the expression on Fabrizio's face._

In the early hours of the morning, Rose awoke to a strange sound next to her. It was not her normal waking time, so when she slowly opened her eyes to a room bathed in twilight, it took her some moments to realize were she was and what was happening. When she did, she was shocked more than a little to find Jack next to her in tears.


	3. a Glimpse of Hope

**A/N: A big thanks once more to my beta-reader G.W. Failure!**

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**A Glimpse of Hope **

She had never seen him cry, not even on the deck of _Carpathia_ where she'd been sobbing relentlessly for the better half of the time. Instinctively, she pulled him close to her kissing him on the forehead and rocking him like a baby as he was clutching her tightly.

"What is it? What's wrong with you?" she had to ask him several times and when he finally did answer, everything came out in a rush.

He spoke to her about Fabrizio, about how they had met in Paris two years ago and had become friends and how he had promised him endless possibilities awaiting them both in America. After all, this was what had reinforced his friend's decision to immigrate to the United States and what had made him his travel companion in the first place.

„If only I'd kept my damned mouth shut instead of infecting his mind with foolish ideas! Without me, Fabrizio would have _never_ left his beloved family scattered all over France and Italy. But I had told him that if he _ever_ were to make it, he'd make it in America! And that he'd come back to see his family one day! And on top of it, who was it who won the tickets in the dockside game? Fabrizio hadn't wanted to gamble that day. It was _me_ who had insisted on it!"

He told her that he hadn't listened to the protests of his best friend who had tried to dissuade him from joining the game. "Did I ever have the right to do it? Did I have the right to gamble not only with my fate but with my best friend's fate as well? Fabri would have been _safe_ if only he had trusted his instincts and stayed as far away as possible from me!"

"Jack, listen. There is nothing you could have done to prevent this. You couldn't possibly have foreseen the sinking!" She tried to put as much emphasis in her words as possible – but it was in vain. He continued his path of self-accusation.

Jack explained that although he had been younger than Fabrizio, he had basically always called the shots. His stubbornness and confidence never left any room for denial or second thoughts. Oh, how he despised himself for that now! "Why did it have to be Fabrizio who died? He was always so considerate. Always thinking ahead. If only one of his many objections would have come through to me!" But no, Jack had been up to something, and when he was up to something, nothing could stop him. "_When you've got nothin, you've got nothin' to lose_," Jack had proudly and confidently declared. But he had been horribly wrong as _Titanic_ had proved when she took Fabrizio's life.

Feeling that everything was said, Jack paused and pressed his trembling body close to hers. She was stroking his back and hair, eager to take away his pain, but not quite knowing how.

His words were still lingering in the room when suddenly an entirely different idea stroke him.

"There's something I have to do," he said, got up from the bed and went to the table. There, he took a piece of paper from his sketch pad and carefully arranged his writing utensils. Surprised at his sudden change of mood, Rose followed his movements with her eyes. Visibly, this new occupation seemed to have an appeasing effect on his troubled mind and for a moment, he looked almost relieved. Slowly and methodically, as if he was drawing the outlines of a sketch, he wrote, "Cher Federigo." He then paused and took a deep breath.

Rose joined him quietly to find out what he was doing. "A letter to his family?"

"His cousin. We've met in Paris and I think I remember his address. He's gonna know where to find Fabri's mother and family. He speaks French and Italian, so if I send him a letter in French, he'll probably translate it to Italian and send it to them…" he trailed off, staring into space.

It was easy to guess his thoughts. "She'll be devasted."

"She will. He's her oldest son. And from what Fabrizio's told me, she'd already lost two of her children to tuberculosis." He sighed. "And now he's gone, Rose. What can I do now? I think his mother has to know."

Still, the words didn't seem to come to mind as he stared at the blank sheet in front of him – save for "Dear Federigo." He closed his eyes and once again took a deep breath. "Can I help you?" Rose asked tentatively and seeing him nod slightly, she sat down close to him.

"Let's write this in English first and translate it afterwards," Rose suggested and Jack did not object. They both spoke French fairly well. Yet, they had slightly different vocabularies for having learned it either from a strict governess or in the streets of Paris.

Cher Federigo," she began dictating, "I am deeply sorry to announce that Fabrizio is gone…"

Jack started writing. With Rose's help, he put into words how their fate took him and Fabrizio to Southampton and on the doomed ship.

They had a long discussion whether or not to mention the dockside poker game. They finally decided to leave indeterminate how they had managed to get their tickets, fearing that this piece of information would leave the De Rossis with a negative image of Fabrizio, leading them to believe that he'd been taking the wrong path.

When they had given their account of the tragic events that took place on the _Titanic_ on the 15th of April, Jack was at a loss again. Still feeling guilty, he just couldn't find the right words of condolence.

That part had been written almost entirely by Rose alone. To her surprise, she found herself quoting whole passages from the letters of condolence that her mother had received after her father had died. Ruth refused to read them, but Rose kept them, and read all three-hundred-and-twenty of them. And they were still there – in a box that she had hidden under her bed in their mansion in Philadelphia.

All those letters were a great comfort for her to help her cope with her father's death, and they never ceased to inspire her imagination. Sometimes, when Rose did not personally know the senders, she imagined them as long lost friends or secret admirers. One letter was from a mysterious _Dolores_ and she wondered if this stranger might have been her father's true love who had been separated from him due to a tragic misunderstanding, or maybe even by their cruel scheming families.

Deep down, she suspected that some of the senders might not even have liked her father very much and just wrote these letters because it was appropriate and they felt obliged to obey the rules of society. But nevertheless, she loved and admired her father and couldn't imagine anybody thinking differently of him. The more her mother talked bitterly about him – about his double life and about their "legacy of bad debts" – the more she idolized him and the more she needed those letters to legitimize her image of him. It took her months to at least partly acknowledge his shortcomings. But still, the letters remained magical.

After they had finished the English version of the letter, Jack read and reread it many times. It felt a little strange to read such a coherent account of what had been so jumbled up in his mind, but it helped him see clearer. _Fabrizio's death was not my fault._ As he let that realization sank in, he felt tears dwell up in his eyes again. He was finally able to mourn his friend.

xxxxx

It took them almost until noon to finish and finally translate the letter to French. Finally, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted, they went back to bed to catch up some sleep. Rose dozed off almost instantly. Despite feeling weary, Jack couldn't sleep. As he was watching her steady breathing, he realized he hadn't thanked her yet. Writing that letter had lifted a huge burden off his shoulders and he knew he wouldn't have managed to write a single coherent phrase it weren't for her help. Though he still felt a little shaky, putting the whole story on paper had allowed him to mentally and emotionally tone down a little. On top of that, she had been an immense comfort to him. He would surely have to tell her that someday.

Seeing her wrinkling her forehead in her sleep, he reached out to her to gently smooth it out with his index finger. In return, that got him a bright smile.

Jack was mesmerized at the sight of her.

Anyone who gave her just a quick look wouldn't think that she was smiling, really – the corners of her mouth just curved up a slight bit – but it was mostly her eyes she was smiling with, which gave her expression even more sincerity and depth. She was beautiful, sublime in a way that Jack was sure that no artist in the world could ever capture it all. She was the epitome of hope.


	4. A life so changed

**Your reviews are **_**very**_** appreciated! Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far. And (as always) many thanks to my beta-reader G. W. Failure for her help and advice! **

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**A life so changed - Rose**

The nursemaid came rushing into the sitting room. "We could not find it in the courtyard, either," she gasped out of breath. Some strands of hair had fallen out of her bun and lay on her shoulder. "Very well," Ruth said firmly. "I think we did enough searching for now. Tell the boys to get back to work."

"Yes, ma'am." The nursemaid nodded eagerly and went out of the room leaving Ruth alone with her seven-year-old daughter.

"Rose, look at what you've done! We certainly won't buy you a canary ever again!" Ruth's face was blotched with anger. "But all I wanted is for him to be free!" Rose defended herself stubbornly with her face turned down. "He was not happy in his cage."

"What were you thinking? Do you know what's going to happen to him if we don't find him soon? He cannot survive outside," Ruth said in a scowl.

The girl finally lifted her head to look at her mother, her eyes filled with terror. "Do you mean he's going to die?" she asked with a thin voice.

Ruth bent down and put her hands on Rose's shoulders so that their eyes were on the same level. Once they made eye contact, Ruth's features softened visibly. When she began to speak, Rose noticed that her voice too had changed; it wasn't scolding any more, but gentle and understanding. "Rose, listen to me. Your bird has been in this cage his whole life. Out there, he doesn't have anywhere to go. He won't be able to find food and shelter. He is not _made_ for this, Rose. In his cage, he had everything he needed."

Rose raised her hands to her forehead in disbelief. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. _I killed him. If only I hadn't set him free!_ Sobbing hard, she threw herself into her mother's arms.

xxxxxx

It was a sunny afternoon in the end of may and opening the windows wasn't enough to let the small attic room cool down to a comfortable temperature. It didn't take long until Rose was covered with sweat. She was crawling on all fours trying hard to clean up the mess that Jack's and her room had become during the little time they had spent there. The floor was covered with crumbs of bread mingled with dust, and some clothes that had fallen down and that no one had cared about enough yet to pick them up again.

Jack had left to spend the rest of the day by the lake where he'd swim and wash some of their cloths. Rose was convinced that he was better off than her.

It was the second time she did this kind of housework and she had gotten it into her head not to make a fool out of herself _this_ time. The first time she had been cleaning, Jack had been helping her and she had desperately wanted to prove to him that she was more than a spoiled socialite who'd shy away from work, so she kept scrubbing stubbornly even when Jack suggested to leave it for today. The next morning, she felt so battered and ill that she couldn't make it out of bed.

"Jack, I'm feeling so sick, I can barely move. I think I need a doctor." As he put his hand on her forehead she watched his facial expression change from worried to relieved. "Normal temperature, thank god," he mumbled more to himself than to her and quickly came up with another explanation for her malaise. "Rose, I think it's just your muscles that are a lil' sore here. You won't feel like that for long."

"But I haven't been doing any sports!" she objected without thinking and Jack couldn't help but laugh at her naiveté.

Feeling offended, she refused to talk to him for hours until she realized that he had been right all along: She had just purely and simply overworked herself the other day and now acted just like the self-centered diva she didn't want to be. Deeply embarrassed, she went to say sorry to Jack who was not mad at all. Now more adept at stifling his laughter, he accepted her apology with a serious expression for he knew that this incident has bruised her ego more than a little.

So, here she was again, doing housework like one of her countless maids had done for her thousands of times before. While she worked her way from one side of the room to the other, her mind started to wander. A mere month ago, who would have guessed that her life was about to take this turn?

Rose's mind went back in time at the weeks before she boarded the _Titanic_.

She had been in Paris with her mother and Cal. Naturally, Cal had provided them with the luxury of a grand suite in one of Paris' finest hotels. One of those days, Cal had gone out to buy a "little something for my beautiful fiancée" that he wanted to give her as an engagement gift, leaving Rose and Ruth alone in their rooms. Just a few weeks ago, Cal had given her that huge diamond engagement ring and as they say, _diamonds are forever_. Boring herself to death, Rose had tried hard to think of something else—_anything_ else. _Tomorrow, we will go to the art gallery. Tomorrow, we will go to the art gallery…_ she repeated over and over again to herself, trying hard to block out the thought that she was soon to be married. Her mother, however—who was happy as a clam that their precarious situation was finally coming to an end—was bothering her with one fashion magazine after another. Rose flipped through them reluctantly.

"Would you please show some interest, Rose? Have you already chosen the color for the bridesmaid's dresses? Don't you think that I am going to do all the work for you? After all, it's you who's getting married, don't you forget that, my dear," Ruth scolded her merrily.

"_No_, thanks to you reminding me all the time, I certainly won't forget. And _yes_, I _have_ already chosen a color for the bridesmaid gowns," she answered in an annoyed tone of voice. "I chose lavender".

"Lavender? Have you taken leave from all of your senses…" The sight of her mother chocking on her afternoon tea nearly made her laugh. _Serves you right!_ Rose thought gleefully, but another more disturbing thought followed on the heels of the former. _Great Rose. Lavender. Now you've really got back at her. After all, all that you've got to do is stand up by day only to go to sleep and then wake up next an arrogant snob for the rest of your life._ It was a bitter insight, but it was the truth and she knew it. Sticking it to her mother or trying to push it in the back of her mind wouldn't help her one bit. As was becoming a trend for her these days, Rose felt overwhelmed by a sudden rush of helpless rage.

"May I be excused?" Rose stood up and rushed to the powder room, never allowing her mother a chance to object.

In the bathroom, she closed the door shut. Gripping the sink with both her hands until her knuckles turned white, she leaned over to have a closer look at her reflection in the mirror. She stared at her face intently in an attempt to control its reactions as she always did when she was upset. Her bottom lip started quivering ever so slightly. _Stop it!_ she ordered her face silently.

"Rose, it's alright. Every woman is a bit nervous before getting married. When I was about to marry your father…" Ruth who'd walked up behind the bathroom door started babbling, but Rose wasn't listening.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. _Oh, how I hate my face._ It made her look so vulnerable. _Like a helpless little porcelain doll. A pathetic little canary that was better off in his cage._

She did not want to be vulnerable. She had to pull herself together.

Furiously, she started rummaging through the drawers of the bathroom cabinet until she found a nice pair of scissors.

This was something she had always done when she was upset and fixing herself in the mirror wouldn't help to get her features under control. Slowly sliding down to the floor, she turned the scissors from one side to the other to study it from different angles as if it was something she had never seen before or a fancy article she wasn't yet sure she liked enough to buy.

For the hundredth time in her life, she pictured herself cutting her hair short with it. One strand of hair would fall down after another until there would be a heap of curls on the floor. Of course, she had never mustered up the courage to _really_ cut her hair. It was enough for her just to know that she _could_ do it. _Anytime_. When she sat on the bathroom floor with the door locked and the scissors in her hand, it was finally _her_ who was in control. Not her overbearing finacé. Not her mother.

It was a pathetic kind of control, but it was everything that she had left before she knew Jack.

"You have blue blood, Rose. You were born to one of the best families in Philadelphia. Your behavior today was unacceptable!_" _Ruth never got tired of saying when Rose was a little girl. _You have blue blood_. This had echoed in her mind for a long time.

In the past, Rose had believed that blue blood was a dangerous disease. After all, hadn't the nursemaid taught her that all men and women had red blood flowing through their veins? So even though her mother used to tell her that Rose had blue blood, she wasn't too worried – She skinned her knees and elbows often enough to know for a fact that hers was red. Yet one day, she eyed her veins critically and saw that they appeared blue. Alarmed, she had asked her father for advice.

"Don't worry, my dear. You're alive and well. I am with you and I always will. I will keep the disease away from you," he had said to calm her down.

But then he died. And the disease started to spread.

Just like when they had come to throw away her beloved books of adventure stories. _They are inappropriate for a young lady of your stat__us!_

Or when they refused to let her take a walk in the sun. _Only farm workers have tanned skin!_

Or the many times when she was forced to act like a doll, pretty on the outside, but lifeless on the inside. _Women without manners or grace will never find a suitable husba__nd!_

But their most perfidious lie was that there was no escape to those principles. That the world outside of her golden cage was even more hostile than inside.

"Don't you forget that you have blue blood. You are not the bedraggled child of a pennyless immigrant or an uncouth dock worker," her mother used to say, when she cried or complained. _Blood as blue as the heart of the ocean._

When she cut her finger on a sharp edge of the wooden floor, Rose snapped back to reality. It hurt and she put it into her mouth instinctively until it stopped bleeding. She realized that while she had been reminiscent of her life before _Titanic_, she had been getting so worked up and had started scrubbing the floor so furiously that the old cloth in her hands became completely tattered and she'd practically been rubbing the boards with her bare hands. Sighing, she threw away the ruined cloth.

When she started arranging a few books on the table, she could not resist the temptation to skim through one of them briefly. It was _A Doll's House_ by Herik Ibsen– a play she adored since she had first come across it in her father's library. She had found and bought it at a flea market in New York and had given it to Jack as a present. He had taught her so many things; finally she had found a way to make it up to him—when it came to literature, Jack still had some catching up to do.

When she had watched him read for the first time, she found out that he had a rather peculiar reading style: It took him quiet long to finish one page, because he was carefully filling every inch of the blank margins with little drawings and ornaments while he read. His illustrations were unlike anything Rose had ever seen and very different from the very realistic portraits he normally did.

Instead of illustrating the events that took place, he just drew rather simplified, yet very expressive characters that, depending on the mood of the story, seemed to melt into their surroundings, triumphed over geometric orderliness or fell into deep black holes. For Jack, this was a simple means of keeping himself concentrated. For Rose, it was a not less than a sign of artistic genius. Once again, she was impressed by his seemingly intuitive ability to grasp what lies beneath and to transform it into haunting pictures. It had an appeasing effect on her.

"_You have a gift, Jack, you do. You see people."_

"_I see you"_

Feeling that she was getting lost in one of his drawings again, she quickly pulled herself together. _I still have some work to do_, she cautioned herself, but before she could continue her domestic chores, she heard footsteps on the stairs. _Jack's_.

She allowed herself a quick glance in the mirror and couldn't help but feel a little clumsy in her cheap gown. Hastily running her fingers through her hair, she tried to look as presentable as she could.

xxxxx

A little weary from work, Rose and Jack sat down on the front porch both enjoying the fresh evening breeze.

Each of them held in their hands a cup of soup they had bought from their landlady. It was a very simple dish, nothing compared to what Rose had grown accustomed to throughout her life and though they'd been living together for more than a month, Jack still couldn't help but look at her intently whenever she took her first mouthful of whatever they ate. Rose had of course noticed this a long time ago and it quickly became a running gag between them. Usually, Rose would respond to him staring at her with a curt and mock haughty "Well, at least it's not caviar," or something like that, but this time, she thought differently of it.

"Jack, if you were a canary – No, please don't laugh, I'm serious – If you were a canary and you were born in a cage and you grew up in one, and all your life you dreamed of escaping, then one day you discover that the cage door is open: what would you do? I mean, would you think that you could make it—outside?"

"That's a tough question. I don't think that a canary would have much of a chance. But still… I think I'd go for it! Because theoretically, I could be a hawk who's been told all his life that he was a canary, couldn't I?" he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Smiling, Rose put down her cup her to wrap her arms around him.


	5. Forever by the sea

**Chapter 5: Forever by the sea**

**A/N: As always, my fantastic beta-reader G. W. Failure helped me to find the right words. Un grand merci à toi!**

**Forever by the sea**

Later on the same evening, Jack leaned back on the front porch and stretched his legs. He and Rose had long ago finished the supper that was prepared for them by their landlady Mrs. Sullivan, whom they've got quite used to paying to do the cooking. Normally, they ate in the kitchen or went back into the house after finishing their meal, but today, they were having a really good time outside and did not feel pressed to head back to their room so soon.

Rose was sitting at his side gazing at her hand of cards intently. Jack had just explained the basic rules of a brand new card game he had learned in France and her head was still reeling with the intricate set of rules of _Belote_.

Jack however, held his hand of cards at his side face down only after having quickly glanced at them. Since he was a rather experienced player, it didn't take him very long to look at his cards since he was able to quickly memorize. In his mind, he was already devising a winning strategy. A little part of him also wanted to impress Rose with his retentiveness. Plus, he could get a better look at her now that he didn't have to concentrate on his hand of cards. Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration, and at times she'd smile lopsidedly and utter a sigh of exasperation. In short, she looked adorable.

"How did you determine the scoring value of the nine again? It somehow depends on the suit, right?" she asked, confusion in her eyes.

Jack was more than eager to explain, but before he could start, the front door behind them opened wide and Mrs. Sullivan stepped out on the front porch.

"Did you like your chicken soup?" she asked, pointing at to the two empty bowls that Jack and Rose had put aside to make room for the card game.

"Very much so, thank you," Rose and Jack answered in almost perfect unison and she took a step in their direction to take the dirty dishes.

"Oh no, we will take it to the kitchen ourselves," Jack interjected, but she was already on her way to the kitchen with the bowls in her hand.

Looking back at Rose, he simply shrugged and directed his attention back to the card game and to Rose's earlier question.

However, before he could finish his explanation, Mrs. Sullivan suddenly reappeared in the door frame, wiping her hands clean on her apron. "Don't you want to go to bed? It's past eight."

Rose and Jack, who had been absorbed in their game, turned their heads to look at her quizzically. _Did she really think they'd go to sleep so soon?_

"No, we'd like to stay up. It's nice to sit here after all of today's work," Rose explained and tried hard to remember which card she had planned to play next when Mrs. Sullivan once again raised her voice.

"It's already getting dark. You won't be able to see your cards for much longer."

"We could go get the kerosene lamp of our room. We've just bought kerosene to fill it up," Rose answered back not even bothering to look up at her from her cards anymore.

"Oh, the kerosene prices these days..."

"We go to bed when we're tired, thanks," Jack interrupted her slightly unnerved and Rose nodded acquiescently.

Taken aback by their bluntness, Mrs. Sullivan inhaled sharply and pulled herself erect as if to brace herself before counterattacking, but in the next second, she exhaled everything in her lungs which let her shoulders fall and her figure shrink back to its normal size.

"It's because I… My bedroom is right here and I won't be able to sleep with you two talking here," she said, defeated.

"Oh um, we're sorry," Jack jumped to his feet and looked at her apologetically. "We'll go someplace else".

The old woman let out a sigh of relief, wished them a good night, and went back into the house.

"So, where do we go now?" Rose asked looking up at him from her seated position.

After a brief moment of consideration, they agreed on going to their favorite spot by the lake and to take the card deck, the kerosene lamp and some blankets with them.

xxxxx

At nightfall, they reached the waterside and unfurled their blankets. They slowly sat down and lit the kerosene lamp. Staring into its bright amber flame, they found themselves caught up in the moment. Everything around them looked quiet and peaceful.

They wound up playing many rounds of Belote, since Rose didn't want to stop until she had emerged victorious in at least one of them.

Jack found her stubborn ambition endearing, but when he saw her yawn for the third time in a row, he suggested to resume the game the next day and to sleep outside under the starry sky.

"Oh just admit it, you're afraid to lose!" She joked, but her face couldn't hide her excitement at his offer. Smiling from ear to ear, she was radiating with joyful anticipation. After all, she'd never before spend a whole night outside. _What a romantic idea!_

"It's settled then!" He said enthusiastically. He hadn't expected her to be so eager to try it and his heart was doing flip flops as he watched her rushing into action to arrange their blankets to a kind of provisory bed.

They turned out the lamp and lay down besides each other. After a gentle good night kiss, they moved to their usual sleeping position: she was curled up against him with her back to his chest and he had his arms wrapped around her.

xxxxx

_An idea that sounds so promising can't be all bad_, she kept telling herself stubbornly when sleep wouldn't set in instantly. However, when she couldn't find sleep for hours, she had to confess to herself that something wasn't right at all.

After slowly uncoiling from Jacks embrace as she didn't want to wake him up, she started twisting and turning on the hard ground to find a good sleeping position, but no matter how often she shifted, she was never fully comfortable.

Yet even if she had bedded herself on the finest mattress and the softest cushions her former life could have offered her, she wouldn't have been less troubled. Every cricking of branches startled her and every nocturnal bird's faint cry mad her tense. She had never thought that nights could be so…. _noisy_. She couldn't help but listen to all those unfamiliar and unsettling clattering, chirping, rattling and clacking sounds that went on and on.

_I could just as well keep my eyes open_ she thought in frustration and snapped them opened to the sight of a full moon shining high in a cloudless clear sky bathing the world in a cold silver light.

Pondering if she should or should not wake up Jack, she turned around to look at his sleeping figure and gasped. It was his still, moonlit face that scared her to death. His ghostly face that reminded her of another starry cloudless night.

In a blink of a second, her mind was thrown back to those fateful hours in the North Atlantic.

_Titanic was gone - swallowed by the merciless sea. Death was everywhere around her- surrounding her, encircling her. Dim white corpse silhouettes floated on a pitch black ocean and Jack's angelic face in front of hers was as motionless and sharp as the features of a marble graveyard bust. _

Her heart was pumping so fast in her chest, it was almost painful. Her mouth had gone completely dry. She looked back up at the stars to eclipse those horrible scenes that seemed to have forever left a scar on her mind.

When her breathing had slowed down to normal again, she didn't have to do any more thinking before deciding what to do next.

"Jack?" She shook him lightly and couldn't help but feel relief washing over her when she saw him opening his eyes almost immediately. "I can't sleep."

A few seconds tickled by until she heard his reply.

"What is it?" he asked and then, sensing her unsettlement, he added "You had a bad dream?"

"Sort of." Her voice wasn't more than a whisper. Not needing any further explanations, he pulled her close to him and started stroking her hair.

Now that she was in his warm embrace again, it paradoxically became more difficult for her to hold back her tears and some of them were streaming freely down her cheeks.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked softly. He rather felt than saw her nod. "All right. Let's go home."

xxxxxx

In the early morning of the next day, Jack left the house alone. As he walked, he carried the letter of condolence that he and Rose had written to Fabrizio's family firmly in his hand.

Last night's experience had brought back his own hurtful memories and it reminded him that he still hadn't sent the letter to Senora De Rossi or her nephew in France respectively. Apparently, Rose couldn't stand seeing him asleep in the bright moonlight, because it made him look like he had when they were floating in the North Atlantic. Like a ghost.

Yet, she hadn't talked about it very much and Jack hadn't asked many questions. He simply didn't have to. He knew exactly how it felt to be haunted by frightening memories of the sinking from his own experience.

Luckily, she'd fallen fast asleep after practically throwing herself into the sheets. She seemed to be alright– at least as far as Jack could tell. He had kept an eye on her for at least thirty minutes before drifting off to sleep himself.

He hated to leave her alone after a night like this, but he knew he had to get this over with. A note on their table would tell her where he went and he was sure she'd understand.

When he reached the nearest post office, he found it crowded with people of all ages and professions. Only one post officer was serving them since the other had just left to take a break – much to the annoyance of the crowd. It was long before noon, but the small room was already hot. Stiflingly so.

The letter in Jacks hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

A young woman that waited in line in front of Jack was fanning herself with a small booklet that Jack identified as a brochure from church. In her free arm she held a whimpering infant. A couple of quinquagenarian women were vividly discussing the weather, the kerosene prize, and the latest gossip in shrill voices that cut through the heavy air like knives. A group of middle aged men added their bass to the babel and the dull bang of stamps and the laughter of children completed the symphony.

Jack remembered that he used to like crowds quite a lot. If this was a normal day, in a crowded room like this, he'd have already made ten new acquaintances; but today, he wasn't in the mood. He felt as detached from the rest of the world as an invisible intruder. This impression was intensified when nobody spoke to or seemed to take notice of him either. _I probably am a ghost after all_, he thought.

At last, an aged post officer belted out a "good morning" at Jack as if it was the first line of a drinking song. It finally was his turn at the counter. He slid the envelope to the old man who took it unperturbedly, of course: for the old clerk, this was just business as usual. He started mumbling the standard price for the transport of a letter, but at that moment his bespectacled eyes fell on the address and then on Jack.

"Oh, to Paris? That'll be a little more expensive, son." He flashed him a toothless smile and got out a price list from his drawer. "See? That's what you have to pay!" He had put his wrinkly index finger on the corresponding spot on the chart.

Jack nodded and paid.

Holding the letter in one hand, the old man counted the money with the other.

Meanwhile, Jacks kept his eyes locked on the white envelope that the old man had placed his free hand on. He wondered how many letters have already passed by those old wrinkled hands and how many of them had brought good or bad news to their addressees. How something that looked so small and innocent could contain something so devastating was beyond him at that point.

The officer nodded and put the money into a small cashbox at his side. "Next one!" he shouted and Jack was shoved to the side by a resolute corpulent lady that had been waiting behind him.

The letter that was to notify Senora DeRossi of the death of yet another of her sons disappeared in a big container where it would mix with hundreds of other clean and white featureless envelopes.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be lighthearted for a change. I promise! **

**Btw, The review button is right here… : )**


	6. In the good old summer time

**In the Good Old Summer Time**

Rose awoke to the sound of singing and someone rubbing something against a hard surface outside their window. Yawning languidly with her eyes closed, she pricked her ears to the noises form the back yard. It was their landlady rubbing her clothing upon a washboard and singing to it.

Stretching lazily, Rose turned around to Jack's side of the bed and was taken aback when she found it to be empty. _He probably won't be gone for long_, she thought to herself and got out of bed to get dressed.

However, after finishing her morning rituals, Jack was still nowhere in sight. She was just about to go down the stairs to look for him in the kitchen when her gaze fell on the note he had left on the table.

"_Good morning, Rose_

_I'm taking the letter to Fabri's mother to the post office. Very sorry to leave you like this, but I had to get this over with. I'll be back with you as soon as I can._

_With love, Jack"_

Rose sighed and put the note back on the table. _Men_, she thought. _A few weeks ago, he had cried in my embrace and now, he thinks he has to get this over with alone._ Yet, after further reflection, she realized that she probably didn't seem particularly strong to him after last night's events.

Not knowing what to do until he returns she went outside to with a copy of _Widower's houses_ by G.B. Shaw in her hands. Taking a seat on the steps of the front porch, she opened her book and started reading.

xxxxx

The sun was high in a sky of bright azure blue. To Jack's relief, there was a slight breeze to make the heat more bearable. He was walking home from the post office with determination and with each step he took, his mood lightened up considerably.

A popular tune leapt into his mind and he started humming it quietly to himself while he tried to figure out the name of the song. When he realized that it was 'In the good old summer time', a smile spread upon his lips. His father used to sing that song many years ago, when he was out in the fields making hay.

Jack has never been particularly good at remembering songs or poems, but as if to make up for it, he had a great memory for images. And he remembered those summers in abundant detail. _The soft green of the grass, the strong hands of his father as he held the reins of his horse, the golden light of the late afternoon…_

And as his mind wandered back to those days, he finally remembered snippets of the lyrics and sang them out of tune, but with all his heart.

"_In the good old summer time,_

_In the good old summer time,_

_Strolling thru' a shady lane_

_With your baby mine..."_

He knew that the verse was incomplete and that his father used to sing many more verses, but as he failed to bring them back to mind, he could only repeat the same lines another three or four times.

Just when he thought that he had sufficiently delved into the past, he spotted a small group of schoolgirls coming his way and the smile that played on his lips widened. They were twelve years old at the most and wore their hair in delicate braids as if to compensate for their plainness of their dresses. Already from afar, he noticed the furtive glances they stole at him. It made him wonder how Rose had looked like at their age.

When they were close enough, he put on his most gentlemanly smile and bowed gracefully. "Well well. What brings such lovely young ladies like you to a place like this?"

Unsurprisingly, his flirtatious charms had the desired effect. The young girls slowed down their pace and beamed at him with flushed faces. When they had passed, he heard them giggle girlishly behind him.

They certainly weren't used to compliments and some of them might most certainly think all the way home about the handsome stranger with blond hair and blue eyes that had greeted them like a fairy tale prince. Jack smiled as he continued his stroll.

He had a feeling that good times lay ahead of him. And those thoughts included Rose, naturally. He knew that Rose and he had not much money left, but, as it goes without saying, he now saw the glass as half full. It would certainly be enough to support him and Rose one more week. He did not see the need to look for a job as long as his pockets were jingling with cash.

He was only a mile from home now and he was almost waltzing it. He began to feel more and more like his old self again.

xxxxx

Every time Rose tried to concentrate on the play, she found it wouldn't last. Her thoughts would always go back to Jack and what he was doing and thinking right now.

She closed the book and started pacing the front lawn nervously.

It must have been in the early morning hours when he had stolen away from her. Now, it was past noon. _Had he posted the letter already?_

She stopped and looked up to the sky shielding her eyes with her hand. Its bright blue was dotted with tiny clouds that appeared to have been pinned onto the firmament. Feeling the heat of the sun on her face and shoulders, she sighed deeply.

In that exact moment, she felt someone grab her around her waist and the next thing she knew, she was hanging with her feed in the air and her head ten inches above the ground.

Her surprised shriek was followed by a familiar laughter. She felt like she was standing on the sky with the soil towering over her head.

"I'll put you back on your feet, all right?" Jack said and turned her around carefully. Sky and earth fell back to where they belonged.

When her feet touched the ground, Rose started to speak, but had to stop in mid-phrase, shaken with laughter.

It took her three attempts until she managed to get it out. "Why did you do that?" She asked him breathlessly.

"Well, I saw you pacing the lawn with that frown on your face and decided it was time for me to sweep you off your feet," he said confidently. He backed up and laughed when Rose tried to punch him playfully.

"What, you didn't seem to be displeased with it at all!" He teased her and before she could attack him again, he swung his arms around her waist to pull her unresisting body against his.

"That doesn't matter." She said after somewhat regaining her composure. "It's not how you treat a lady," she added snootily, but failed in her attempts to keep the giggles at bay. "It is not?" he replied, trying to sound genuinely surprised. "How do you treat a lady then?" He looked her straight in the eye with that piercing gaze of his and it suddenly hit her how close he was.

Her gaze wandered from his eyes to his mouth and she sucked in her breath as he tilted his head to clear the remaining space between them.

It's been more than five weeks since they had gotten off the _Carpathia_ to start a new life together. During that time, they had shared countless quick and supporting kisses, but none of them had made them tremble or made their legs feel like jelly, none of them even compared to what they had shared on the _Titanic_.

They had reached out for each other, but something had always held them back like a weight pushing down on them, immobilizing them. But whatever had kept them apart was gone now. As the kiss intensified, Rose was surprised at the rush of emotions she felt welling up inside of her and she brought a hand up to run her fingertips through the unruly mass of his hair.

His hands traveled up and down her back while she turned her head slightly to deepen the kiss. They were so caught up in what they were doing that neither of them heard the footsteps in the front yard.

_BAM!_

Startled by the noise, they let go of each other and turned their heads to look at the appalled face of a quite indignant Mrs Sullivan. In all likelihood, she had let her laundry basket drop to the ground at the sight of the outrageous behavior they had openly displayed in her front lawn.

When she realized that Jack and Rose were staring right at her, she turned red at first, but then put on a grim expression. She swiftly threw back in the pieces of clothes that had fallen out of the basket, then lifted it up again and fled to her house, banging the door shut – she was probably considering putting up her laundry at a later time.

When she was gone, Rose and Jack looked at each other in bewilderment. Jack's face was the first to twitch. Then both of them started laughing almost in unison.

"She'll probably throw us out immediately," Rose panted when she recovered her breath.

"Nah, I guess not," Jack answered jokingly "She'll be more than busy praying three thousand Hail Mary's. That should give us some time."

Once again, they were convulsed with laughter.

"And you know what the best thing about this is?" Rose asked stifling her last giggles and putting on a serious face.

Still grinning widely, he shook his head.

"Well," she remarked conspiratorially, the smile now creeping up her face again. "Now that our reputation is tattered once and for all, we've got nothing more to lose, don't we?"

She had stunned him once again. His mind reeling he mentally traveled back to the back seat of the Renault where she had answered his "Where to, miss?" oh so suggestively.

_To the stars. _He felt those words echoing through his body. Would she ever cease to amaze him?

Pulling her close to him he started kissing her passionately.

Somehow, they managed to enter the house through the back door and climbing the stairs to their attic room without being caught (or so they thought). However, as they couldn't keep the old bed from squeaking its protest, they knew they were now really providing a pretext for being kicked out immediately.

They couldn't have cared less.

xxxxx

Savoring the afterglow of love making, they stayed in bed for hours.

Rose was lying on her chest, but had her face turned to Jack's. He was lying right next to her drawing rectangles, circles and all kinds of geometric figures on her naked back. "I thought you didn't like cubism at all," Rose teased him after some minutes of pleasant silence. Jack shrugged. "The exception proves the rule."

Curling up against him, she let him wrap his arms around her. Feeling his steady breath against the skin on her neck made her feel so happy, it was overwhelming. She closed her eyes and saw images of their bright future flashing by.

_She'd perform in motion picture movies. She'd start with small roles, of course, but someday, someone would notice her talent and offer her her first leading part. Jack will be so proud and they'll ride horses on the beach to celebrate. _

Her waking dream was so vivid and exciting that she couldn't wait to make it happen. "Where do you want to go next?" Rose asked entangling herself from his embrace and rolled over to look at him.

He was lying on his stomach with his head turned to her and a few strands of blond hair falling over his closed eyes.

"What?" he muttered drowsily.

"Well, don't you think it's time to go? Firstly, our landlady certainly won't be too happy to have us around after walking in on us like that and secondly, don't you think it's time to move on?"

He nodded slightly.

"Really? I can't wait to get out of here!" she exclaimed impatiently, bringing herself into a sitting position. "I can't wait! Where do we go first? ... Jack?" she asked, but instead of a reply there only came soft snoring sounds. He was fast asleep.

"Why is he always falling asleep so quickly?" she muttered to herself and shook him impatiently until he reluctantly opened his eyes and braced himself on his elbows to look up at her.

"What is it, Rose?" He sounded slightly unnerved. However, when he took in the image of her sitting beside him with her red hair cascading down her nude body, he realized he didn't mind too much having been woken up.

"I wanted to talk to you about where to go next," she said matter-of-factly.

"So… you feel ready to go back to New York?"

"New York, Los Angeles, I don't care, let's just light out of here! I feel like I've been stuck here for ages. I want to go back to the big city. I'm ready for that. Besides, haven't you told me the money is almost gone? We have to move on and look for a job in the city. I can't wait to finally audition as an actress!" Her enthusiasm made him smile. He brought himself up close to her to have a better look at her beaming face.

"You're sure you don't want to look for a job here? You know, milking cows, feeding chickens, shoveling horse shit… " he teased her and in return, was promptly hit by a pillow.

"Shall I take this as a 'no'?" he chuckled.

"Yes, it's a 'no'!"

"I'm confused, now. Is it yes or no?" he laughed and held up his hands to defend himself against the pillow Rose had set out again to hit him with.

"Ok, ok, I give up!" he said and waited until she had put the pillow back in his place.

"It's settled then? Are we going to leave this place?"

There was a moment's pause before he replied. "I'm sorry, Rose, but we cannot leave right away." His expression became serious again. "There's a problem."

Her face fell. "What is it?"

"On my way to the post office this morning I overheard a group of men talking about a construction zone somewhere up the tracks. Apparently there's been some kind of damage to the tracks and as long as the repairing takes, no train will pass by our station."

Rose sank back on the bed with a pouting face. "That means we'll be stuck here for another month?"

"No," he reassured her laughing. "They said that it will take them maximum a week to get it done."

Her face lit up a bit. "So, we'll stay here for another week. I think I can survive that."

"I feel like I might survive it, too," Jack said.

"That's a very good sign." Rose smiled.

Jack looked at her thunderstruck for a moment. Then he cupped her face in his hands and brought it to his to quickly plant a kiss on her forehead. "Great!" he exclaimed. "Now I finally remember the rest of that verse!"

And Rose watched him in bewilderment as he began to sing:

"_In the good old summer time,_

_In the good old summer time,_

_Strolling thru' a shady lane_

_With your baby mine._

_You hold her hand and she holds yours,_

_And that's a very good sign_

_That she's your tootsie wootsie_

_In the good, old summer time."_

**A/N: "In the good old summer Time" is a 1902 song written by George Evans (music) and Ren Shields (lyrics).**

**Thanks to G W Failure for proofreading! **


	7. Wiping the Slate Clean

**AN: At first, I'd like to thank all reviewers and apologize for not having updated in almost two months. That's what happens when both the author and the beta-reader are busy : )**

**However, while I was waiting for G W Failure to revise my drafts, I reread the whole story and realized that it needed some improvement here and there. I mostly made small changes (adding a few lines and details, changing the sentence structure, etc.) but there are two things I need to tell those of you who don't want to read everything all over again: 1) Rose and Jack's landlady now has a name – Mrs. Sullivan and 2) Jack is currently reading "A doll's house" by Henrik Ibsen.**

**

* * *

Wiping the Slate Clean**

The next morning, Rose had gotten up early to buy fresh bread and marmalade that she was now arranging on the table. It was her turn to prepare breakfast and she fulfilled it with diligence.

Pleased with her work, she turned around to Jack who was still lying in bed, his naked body only half covered by the sheet. He had stirred when she had entered the room and mumbled a "good morning" but hadn't fully woken up yet. _What a late riser_, she thought to herself as she let her eyes wander over his slender frame for a brief moment.

Looking around the room, she caught a look at herself in the mirror and smiled.

There had been a time when she had looked like an Edwardian geisha. That was before the reflection of an exhausted survivor with the dark rings under her frightened eyes had taken the place of the geisha's face. But now, both reflections were gone.

Instead, the image that greeted her every day was that of a young bohemian with a heap of curly red hair framing her slightly tanned face. It reminded her of the girls Jack used to draw in Paris… _adventurous, spirited and achingly beautiful_.

She knew that townspeople shot her glances as she passed by and that not all of them were approving. An adult woman who'd refuse to wear her hair back was an obscene image to many of them. But sometimes, she just didn't feel like pinning up her hair. She inwardly laughed about Mrs. Sullivan who'd not very subtly ask her every morning if she needed anything, "a glass of milk, the church brochure or maybe some nice pins for her hair…" But every time, Rose would refuse politely and leave her fiery curls as they were.

She smiled brightly at her new reflection, confident that she had never looked better.

_Why should I care about what other people thought anyway?_ She thought defiantly. There was only one person whose opinion mattered to her at the moment. The one that was still snoring softly at 9 AM. She rolled her eyes and sat down beside Jack on the bed to wake him up.

xxxxx

The days were hot and the sultry air left no doubt about it: the good old summer time had definitely set in.

With every ray of sunlight, a dolorous memory seemed to dissolve in the hot summer air. When Rose bathed her feet in the lake, it didn't feel painful but soothingly cool. Her nightmarish experiences from the other day didn't reoccur and she actually felt silly for it.

Today was one of the days she and Jack spent at the nearby lake, eating blueberries they had gathered from nearby bushes and chatting about everything under the sun.

Rose took the opportunity to talk about her favorite paintings with relish. Her mother had once called her love of art _obsessive_ and _unhealthy_. Even her father had rolled his eyes whenever she went on and on about the luminous beauty of Vermeer's early portraits or the gloomy romanticism of Franzisco de Goya.

In Jack, however, she had found an intent listener. He was amazed at how much Rose knew about art. She was well informed about every motif that had caused a furor in the French capital during the time Jack had spent there – and many more. Never had he more enjoyed to hear anyone talk about the world of art than her. He marveled at the sound of her voice that at least in his mind perfectly reflected the warm glow of van Gogh's _Café Terrace at night_ and at the turquoise depth of her eyes when she spoke of Monet's water lilies. It was magical.

Another topic they never got tired of chewing over was Jack's past. Rose was eager to know everything about his bohemian life in France and Jack was more than willing to share his adventurous tales – as long as they didn't bring back memories of his perished friend Fabrizio. She took in his every word with enthusiasm. Like a child in a variety show she'd listen to each of his stories in awe and when he was finished, she'd demand more.

"What happened to the sculpture of the love-struck captain? Did you ever see it again? And what happened to Victor and Francoise? Did they ever meet Monet in his garden in Giverny?"

"If you keep asking me like that, I'll soon run out of stories," he remarked jokingly but Rose was far from being anxious about that. "If that happens, I'll simply ask you to tell them all over again."

Needless to say, he never ran out of stories. The memory of his artist life in Europe provided him with a seemingly infinite number of anecdotes.

"Even if nobody wanted to buy them, Mél knew well how to make use of the dresses she designed," Jack chuckled and Rose frowned a little at hearing her name. Mélanie or Mél, as he had told her the day before, was a tailor who dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. And she was Jack's former girlfriend.

"All her dresses had big pockets hidden under the skirts and she used to wear them on big banquets, preferably weddings of the upper middle class where no one would pay attention to another unfamiliar face. When she came home in the middle of the night, the pockets of her skirts were filled with cake and we ate until our stomachs were aching."

Rose couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy when she saw the huge grin Jack had plastered all over his face as he brought back memories of _this girl_. She decided that it was time to change the topic. "Did any of your friends manage to live only from their art?"

"Only Victor. I don't know if I already mentioned him. I was his roommate for some weeks after I had to move away from the 12th arrondissement during last year's flood. Victor lived in a small flat on the Montmartre hill and thus was not affected by the rising water."

Rose nodded, understanding. "_The great flood of Paris_. It was the headline of almost every journal in Philadelphia."

Jack went on. "When I first met him he was struggling like all of us with his realistic sculptures. He was fairly successful after he turned to Cubism, though. I've never seen anyone change his artistic style as fast as him."

"How did that happen?"

"Before moving in, I had already heard that he was obsessed with a sculpture he was carving, the sculpture of a young woman holding a violin as she is just about to draw the bow across the strings. He had been working on it for several months already. It was perfect in every way but he became obsessed with it to the point where he hardly ever left the house. He was never satisfied, always striving for more details, more realism. He'd even get up at night to work on it and at first, the hammering and carving and chiseling in the adjoining room used to wake me up but somehow I got used to it."

He paused for a moment, watching her take a couple of blueberries out of a small tin can. "You want some, too?" she asked.

"Um, later maybe. Anyways, one day I asked him to throw a party to get him out of his isolation. Surprisingly, he accepted. So we invited everybody and everybody came. We were living on the third floor, but it was a balmy spring night, so we all gathered in the courtyard. It was great fun and a good-humored Victor was chatting and drinking beer and absinthe like the rest of us. By midnight, we were all so drunk that we didn't notice Victor's absence until we heard loud drunken singing from his room. Then we were startled by an ear-battering crash from upstairs."

"Oh my god!" Rose covered her mouth with her hand.

"So we ran upstairs to his room and there he was: His statue in pieces and he sitting amidst it. We were staring at him, deadly-silent and then heard him say, almost apologetically: 'I only wanted to dance with her'."

This surprising comment made Rose laugh so hard she was choking on her blueberries. Jack needed to clap her on the back several times before he could finish his story.

"And then Victor was dancing savagely around the stone pile like around a fireplace. At first everybody was in shock but sooner or later, we all started imitating him and were dancing and jumping and running around the remains of his work. The party simply went on and Victor was happier than I had seen him in weeks.

When the party was over, he invited everybody to take pieces of his statue as trophies. Mél took the right half of her face. I chose her hand that still held part of the bow. A few men almost got into a fight over who would take her breasts.

Then those who were still able to walk went home and the rest of us just slept right on the spot. It took us until the next day to fully grasp what had happened. My head felt twice its size and the others didn't look much better off. Nevertheless, we were all anxious as to how Victor would react now that he was sober.

We found him where we had left him: In his room, ordering the stones, that were left, in a comical rearrangement. Then he was looking back at us with a solemn expression on his face. Like a prophet right after receiving a vision from god. That was the moment he converted to Cubism."

Rose nodded in fascination. She just couldn't get enough of these stories. "I guess I don't have to even mention that my stay at Paris wasn't half as exiting," she said after another mouthful of berries.

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "We get to see as much in one day as most people do in a year," One of his Parisian friends used to say and Jack always added with a meaningful grin: "You must be talking of a _very_ boring day!" However, he hadn't believed in his wildest dreams that his dubious experiences would one day serve to capture the attention of a fine lady like Rose.

In retrospect, even the hardships he had endured during his time in Europe seemed like harmless diversions of venturesome bohemians. Instead of discouraging people, they added to the unique charm of their unorthodox lifestyle. Hunger, cold and permanent precariousness were as essential to the Bohemian existence as youth, freedom and artistic escapades.

_If living au jour le jour is what makes Bohemian life fun, misery is what makes it real_, Jack thought. _That's probably why I have never been ashamed of being poor_. He thought of Victor and Mél and the other people he had met in Paris. Victor was the offspring of a wealthy pharmacist family, intelligent and well-educated. Mél was a charming and imaginative girl who could have married up easily. Both were living among rootless ruffians like him because they had chosen it. And Rose… Rose had given up more than he could ever begin to wrap his mind around.

"Now we've been talking about me the whole day. Why don't you tell me more about your trip to Europe?" Jack suggested.

Rose sighed. "I'd rather hear your stories, Jack. I don't even want to think about the past anymore! I want to start anew, in this world, in your world. I've burnt all my bridges behind me."

Jack frowned a little at her comment. He knew she has burnt all her bridges. He understood why she has done it. He was just unsure if it was a good idea to pretend her life on the other waterside had never happened. She clearly didn't belong there, but she didn't fully belong to his world either. At least she wasn't yet as much at ease in it as him.

As he was still pondering this thought, she slipped out a sheet of paper and a pencil and began scribbling a few lines on it. Then she gazed at the horizon thoughtfully for a few seconds before she continued writing. "What are you doing?" Jack shot her a curious gaze but as she was only smiling at him quizzically, he had to lean closer to get a look at what she was writing.

"_Grand Canyon. Montmartre. Santa Monica Pier. St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. Cairo_…" he read aloud. "Are you making a list about the places you want to go next?" He asked her, amused.

"Well... maybe," came her response.

He laughed. "I used to make lists, too, you know. They changed more often than the weather and in the end, life always took me someplace else."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Then I know what to do," she said and turned the page to write a big _X_ on the backside.

"What does that stand for?" Jack asked with a bemused look on his face.

"Life. The unknown. Chance. Fate. However you want to call it," She burst into a giddy laughter that Jack quickly joined in.

"I like the way you think." He reached out and touched her face with his palm. "And one day we'll go to all those places," he said, contradicting his earlier statement. "Oh, and by the way, I have already seen St. Peter's Basilica."

"You have?" Rose's mouth fell open in surprise. She had understood long ago that in Jack's case 'no money' didn't equal 'bound to stay in one place', but it still amazed her to no small degree to how many places he had already been to. "What was it like? How did you even get there?"

He took a deep breath. "It's a long story." Rose folded her legs under her dress to shift into a more comfortable sitting position. "That's what I had hoped for."

xxxxx

Rose woke up in the morning with a gnawing hunger. A glance at Jack who lay beside her made her remember why. They had skipped supper last night when they had been preoccupied with other, more interesting activities. She felt the blood rush to her face at the memory.

"Jack!" she shook him lightly. "Your turn to buy breakfast."

But instead of getting up, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She felt her stomach grumbling angrily as he began nuzzling her ear.

"Jack?" she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Not now. I'm hungry."

"There's half a loaf of bread on the table. We didn't eat it yesterday evening, remember?" he mumbled, close to her ear.

"It's stale." She disentangled herself from his embrace and got up, turning her back on him as she started to gather her clothes that were lying all about the room.

"It's not. You've just bought it." Jack responded genuinely surprised while she was getting dressed furiously.

"That was one day ago!" Rose cried exasperatedly and spun around to face him.

"But that's what I was saying," he defended himself as he lifted his hands apologetically.

She looked at him like was out of his mind. Her notion of the word 'stale' was obviously quite different from his.

"Gosh, Rose, let's not fight about bread, all right? I've eaten bread that was much older than this." He quickly got up and started getting dressed himself.

"We're not fighting about bread. You've promised me you would get some today and now you're just too idle to do it!" she said, raising her voice.

Jack blinked, irritated. She was right, he had promised to go but not in case they still had enough to eat at home. _Why should I do something that is utterly unnecessary_? he asked himself as he buttoned his shirt and trousers. Besides, there was something about Rose's tone that was bothering him.

"Well, if you want to get special treatment, you might go back to Philadelphia and see if one of your former servants is still inclined to give it you," he said sarcastically. However, it shocked him how bitter his voice sounded. This was not how he had intended it. He stood there for a moment, uneasy, avoiding her gaze.

When her voice cut the silence, he knew for sure that he had gone too far. "So that's what you think, huh?"

"Rose, I," he began, but she walked right past him and sat down at the table. She took the knife and began cutting slices of bread, slowly and methodically.

Jack let himself fall on the chair next to her, trying to solve the enigma that her face was to him at that moment. Her expression betrayed almost no emotion. Jack assumed that she was struggling with some sort of internal conflict and he cursed himself for having caused it. He opened his mouth, ready to give her every apology she needed when she cut him off a second time.

"It's all right. I was acting like a spoilt brat, so I deserve to be called one," she said calmly but without looking up.

"No. I know what you are and what you are not. You are not a spoilt brat to begin with, and even if you were, I shouldn't have said those things. I mean, after everything that we went through, aren't we supposed… _not_ to have petty arguments like this?"

"I accept your apology if you accept mine." She put away the knife and lifted her face. Their eyes locked, finally. "I don't want to be the silken princess any longer. I had more than enough of this role. I love you and I want be with you, embrace the life you live even if it means to be uncomfortable." She sent him a tentative smile that he returned.

"I know," he stated a little smugly but nevertheless, enormously relieved.

"You know? Now what's that supposed to mean, huh?" She tittered and reached out to pinch his arm.

"Never mind. I love you, too," he got up from his chair to kneel down beside hers. Laying his head in her lap, he encircled her sitting figure with his arms.

"Yeah," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I know."


	8. The Bonds That Tie

**AN: I'm running out of ways to say 'thank you' to G W Failure. So, even though I sound redundant: Thanks for beta-reading this chapter! **

**Spoiler: Rose and Jack will discuss the ending of "A doll's house" in this chapter, just in case you want to read it someday (I warmly recommend it, it's a great play!).**

* * *

**The Bonds That Tie**

In the late morning, Ted Fisher, a small, stocky man in his late thirties, was starting his work day. For the last week, his workplace had looked not unlike a wooden cargo container, ready to be carried over the Atlantic on one of those tramp steamers and Ted had been suspended for a week. _Wouldn't have minded if the repairing had taken a little longer_, he thought to himself. _Could have spent more time with my wife and kids. And maybe finished digging up that hole in the garden. _However, now that the works at the tracks were nearly finished, he had to reopen the damn ticket box where he used to "spend the better part of the time of his adult life inside" as he often complained.

"Sir! Excuse us. Are the trains coming again?" Ted stopped his work and turned around to a lanky young man, maybe half his age and with unkempt hair. He had a girl with him, a beautiful thing who wore her curly hair down, negligently.

"Yeah. From tomorrow on, it's going to be business as usual", he assured his young clients, "Train to New York at seven thirty AM or five o' clock PM on week-ends, train going west at twelve thirty AM or eleven PM on week-ends," he said and then turned his attention back to the ticket box for a short moment, "Just wait for a couple of minutes until I have this thing here set up… _There you go_… and I'll sell you your tickets."

"Um, no, thanks," the boy responded. He was now squeezing the girl's hand and she gave him an adoring smile. "We're not yet sure when we're going to leave. And where!" he added, locking his eyes with the girl's. The two lovebirds mumbled another _Thanks_ and a _good bye_ in Ted's direction and went away.

Ted stared after the young couple for a few seconds. _Hoboes. As if we didn't already have enough of these, _he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head.

xxxxx

"This is our last day, here. Enjoy it! In a few weeks, you might miss the quiet country life," Jack said, smiling lopsidedly with his eyebrows lifted, like he always did when he was in a teasing mood. He and Rose were on their way back home and in a joyful mood after hearing the good news from the ticket salesman.

"Quiet country life, huh? What about the rooster that started crowing in the middle of last night?" Rose complained in a playful tone.

He chuckled a little at her comment. He heard the crowing, too from time to time, but it usually didn't disturb his sleep. "Yeah, they are supposed to wake you in the morning, not in the middle of the night, aren't they?"

"They should?" she asked in mock surprise, "Then we should go find him and tell him that!"

Jack laughed. _The damn bird shouldn't be too hard to find_, he thought, for they were only two small houses in sight and as far as Jack knew, only one of their neighbors had chicken.

"I have an even better idea. If we find him, we'll have roast for supper," he said, making her giggle.

Mrs. Sullivan's house was at least four miles away from the train station but Rose and Jack were so light on their feet that when the small farm house finally came in sight, it seemed to them like they had walked the way in minutes. However, shortly before the fence door, Rose suddenly jerked to a halt, her hand slipping out of Jack's who then stopped, too, turning around to her with a puzzled look on his face.

"Which train are we going to take, tomorrow?" she answered his unspoken question, "We still haven't dicided where to go!"

Jack shrugged, then dug his hand into the pockets of his light brown corduroy pants and pulled out a dime. "Ok, heads is east, tails is west. You toss it. Let fate decide!" he stated, handing over the coin to Rose.

She tossed the coin in the air but instead of on her hand it landed in the scrubby grass besides the road, prompting Rose to let out a mild curse and Jack to laugh heartily at her expense.

"Try again. But keep a steady hand this time or we'll be broke soon," he said after he had fetched the dime and given it back to her, still looking rather amused.

"We'll soon be broke, anyway," she countered, flipping the coin a second time but now catching it swiftly with her hand.

Jack grinned, clapping approvingly as Rose stared at the coin in her cupped hand. "Heads," she stated matter-of-factly, "We're going back to New York."

Jack sighed and Rose flashed him a bemused smile. "What? You don't want to go there? Didn't you just proudly declare to _let_ _fate decide_?", she said in a deep voice, trying to imitate his intonation.

He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "The train to New York leaves around seven AM or so, right? I just don't want to get up at five in the morning."

Rose laughed and tossed the coin back to him. "It's settled then," she said and took a step towards him, "We're heading west, so you can sleep late." She leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips.

"You don't mind, do you?" He studied her face, but couldn't detect any sign of annoynace. "If you'd rather take the train in the morning or go somewhere else..."

"No, I'm fine!", she reassured him laughing. "But let's get inside, now. I'm hungry!" she said, opening the fence door to Mrs. Sullivan's front lawn.

Jack followed her through the door as a different topic crossed his head. "Oh, by the way, I've finished reading _A doll's house_, now."

"And? What do you think? Do you like it?" She cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. _A doll's house_ was one of her favorite plays and last year, she had locked herself in her room for hours after her mother had forbidden her to see it on stage. It was, however, not because of the play's emancipatory content that Rose was sure her mother had not the faintest idea about, that she hadn't allowed it. It was because of an important social event at the same day that Rose _couldn't possibly want to miss in favor of a silly theatre show._

"Yeah, it's an amazing book, no doubt about it," Jack said and Rose smiled at his words, content that they were of the same opinion.

"But," he went on, "There's one thing that bothers me about that play… I mean, I'm on Nora's side; I think that Helmer is an idiot and I was happy that in the end, she finally sees their marriage for what it truly is. She's right about ending the marriage, she's right about nearly everything, but I don't like it that she would just… _leave_ like that and abandon her children."

"But this is about her, not about the children!" Rose exclaimed, walking up the stairs of the front porch. "Besides, the children are part of the doll house, part of the lie. They were dolls to her as she was a doll to Helmer. She had to break free of it all and walk away to find out who she really was and how things are supposed to be," she went on, passionately defending the play that had inspired her so much.

"I know what you mean", he said lamely. "And I understand why she did it, but I feel sorry for the kids anyway. It's incredibly hard for children to lose their mother and it's bad enough if it's by death! How much worse must it be for the kids if they knew it was her _choice_ to leave them?" he asked gravely.

Ever since his parent's death, Jack had felt deeply connected to children and didn't take it lightly when their hopes and needs were disregarded by an often cruel society. He had met hundreds of children in the streets – runaways from abusive families, abandoned kids or orphans like himself and he admired the gritty determination he often saw in their eyes, the stubborn will to survive against all odds in a world without the caring affection of a mother.

"The children are better off with their father than with her. Besides, in middle class and upper class households, it's usually the nanny who fulfills the mother's chores anyway and the children quickly become more attached to her than to their real parents. And when they're old enough, they'll probably be sent to a boarding school anyway. Children are estranged from their parents before they even begin to learn how to _speak_," she said and then added, "You don't know what it's like…" in a voice so low that Jack who was just opening the front door of the farmhouse with screech, never even heard it.

When they had entered the house, they were surprised to find it filled with the laughter of unfamiliar voices that were coming from the kitchen.

"Sounds like new guests," Jack said, peering at the two pairs of men's boots next to the door.

"And smells like chicken," Rose said, smiling as she took in the scent that they had only scarcely come across since she had decided to leave her old life behind.

"Now I wonder. These must be quite important guests for her to choose meat for dinner," Jack remarked and started to untie his shoes.

Rose shrugged and knocked on the kitchen door. "Come in!" came Mrs. Sullivan's a little raspy voice and Rose stepped inside the room.

Mrs. Sullivan was sitting at the kitchen table with two young men. They both had short brown hair and square freckled faces - it was easy to tell that they were brothers.

When they saw Rose, they dropped their cutlery instantaneously and jumped to their feet to greet their unexpected guest.

"Well, these are my youngest boys, Ralph and Joseph!" the landlady started to introduce them, but Joseph had already grabbed Rose's hand.

"Hello!" they said with full mouths. Ralph was a tad taller than his brother, but his face was chubbier, younger. Rose assumed Joseph to be around Jack's age and Ralph at least three years his junior, despite his height.

"Nice to meet you", Rose said, shaking their hands as gracefully as she used to shake the hands of English Lords and Pittsburgh millionaires at another point in time, "I'm Rose and this is…"

"Jack," he finished for her, quick to enter the scene and take the boy's attention from his girlfriend.

"So you're with her? You don't have a wedding band. But you two are married, right?" Ralph Sullivan inquired innocently.

"Oh well…" Jack smiled and started scratching his head.

"Um, no, we're not exactly… _married_" Rose answered haltingly for him. Ralph's eyes almost plopped out of his head at her bold statement. His mother, however, gave her a long meaningful _I knew it all along! -_ stare.

"Haha, my little brother! Always poking his nose into everything, aren't you, Ralph," Joseph chipped in, taking the opportunity to change the subject and give his younger brother a smack on the head.

"Now, why don't we all sit down again and finish supper. Jack, Rose, are you hungry?" Joseph said gentlemanly, motioning for them to sit. Rose and Ralph took a seat on one side of the kitchen table, Jack and Joseph on the other. After serving Jack and Rose, Mrs. Sullivan went back to sit on the chair at the head of the table.

Jack grinned as he looked at his plate. It was indeed chicken. "Funny, we were just talking about roast," Jack remarked more to himself than to anybody in the room.

"You must have been hungry. When I'm hungry, I talk about nothing else but food," Ralph said, shooting Jack only a quick glance from across the table. The focus of the boy's attention was now firmly set on the plate in front of him as he was trying to pile up as much food as possible on his fork.

"You _always_ talk about food, Ralph," his brother chipped in, but Ralph ignored his comment, devouring the pyramid of chicken and potatoes he had skillfully constructed on his fork.

Rose giggled quietly, infected by the good-humored familiar atmosphere. It suddenly hit her, how little time Jack and she had spent with anybody besides the other. She found it quite refreshing to finally get to meet some of the locals – especially ones like Mrs. Sullivan's youngest offspring who were brisk, genuine and made her smile.

"How long will you be staying here?" Ralph asked, turning to Rose, who was sitting beside him.

"Well, actually, we wanted to leave with the next train which is due tomorrow," Rose replied in their landlady's direction, expecting her to look relieved at this announcement, but the old lady simply nodded and asked them not to forget to sweep the attic room before leaving.

"Ah, too bad," Ralph grumbled, not even trying to hide his disappointment, "It would have been so nice to have new folks around. Joseph and I work as loggers in the neighboring village. We've been seeing the same faces everyday for weeks."

Jack couldn't help but smile sympathetically at this comment. Ralph reminded him so much of himself, at a younger age of course. Chippewa Falls was a small village not unlike this one and Jack remembered the long afternoons he used to spend in front of the window, looking out at the endless fields in front of their house and wishing for something to happen.

"It's so nice you've come to visit your old mother today, boys," The old woman suddenly chipped in, her eyes shining as she was looking from one son to the other.

"Ah, mom. You make it seem like we haven't seen each other in years," Joseph said laughing and Ralph's cheeks turned red.

"The last time we've seen her was last Sunday at church," Joseph explained to Jack and Rose.

"Three days ago!" Ralph repeated with emphasis and Jack broke into a wide grin.

"While we're on the subject of church… Have you two seen our church, already?" Joseph asked, looking at their new guests expectantly.

Seeing both Jack and Rose shake their heads, he looked surprised for a moment, but went on talking good-naturedly, "it's a Catholic church about 5 miles from here, close to the train station."

"We've heard church bells on Sunday, but we never really went there," Rose uttered apologetically from across the table.

"Well, it's small and nothing special, but our services are worth a visit. Father Michael is such a nice man and his sermons are the best…" Joseph started to explain.

"He truly is an inspiring man. He really speaks to us people…", his little brother cut him off, "Like last Sunday, for instance, when we were having a sermon in honor of the _Titanic_ victims..."

"What a horrible event! So many people freezing to death!" Joseph added.

Ralph took the opportunity to correct his older brother with obvious relish. "Actually, most of them didn't freeze to death, but suffocated."

This comment caught Joseph off guard. He let the fork with the piece of chicken that he was about to shove into his mouth sink again. "They suffocated? Seriously?"

"That's what happened." Ralph stated with as much self-assurance as a teenage boy could possibly muster.

And thus, the gauntlet was thrown down.

Joseph put the cutlery aside and leaned forward across the table to glare condescendingly at the younger boy. "Ah, how would you even know?"

"Well, I just do," Ralph stated, straightening up and folding his arms. They were so engaged in their little argument, that neither of them noticed the shocked looks on Jack and Rose's faces.

"Yeah, because you're so smart. And if you had been a passenger, you'd have built a raft and paddled all the way to New York! That's what you told us last week, wasn't it?"

"No, I'd have built it and then waited on it for the rescue ship to pick me up," Ralph countered, his voice taking on the cracking, screechy tone of a pubescent boy.

Joseph opened his mouth to defy his brother, but his mother cut him off.

"Enough! I will no longer tolerate this kind of conversation at my kitchen table! And if Pastor Michael should have taught you boys one thing, than it would have been to be humbled in the face of such a tragic event, so stop these silly discussions!" she declared firmly and with an authority Jack had never thought she could possess.

Rose cast her a grateful glance. She and Jack had mocked her conservative attitude countless times, but now, for the first time, Rose was happy to have her around. The boys hung their heads in shame. Joseph even mumbled a "Sorry mother" and the five of them continued to eat in silence until Jack spoke up again.

In order to ease the dinner atmosphere and to get his own mind away from the sinking as fast as possible, Jack had quickly put on his best poker face and skillfully turned the conversation towards safer topics. But as the three men were vividly discussing the weather, the roof of the church that needed mending and the best fishing spots, Rose kept her eyes fixed on her plate, replying only monosyllabically whenever being asked something. She ate mechanically, no longer enjoying the meal. It was clear that her thoughts were far away.

"Would you please help me cleaning up the dishes?" Their landlady had to ask Rose several times until she looked up. Taking in her environment like someone who had just woken up in an unfamiliar place, her eyes fell on the empty dishes on the table and then on the old lady who stared at her, her hands put on her hips.

The young woman nodded and started to gather the used plates.

"I'll get the water", Joseph offered, grabbed two empty buckets from the corner of the room and rushed out of the kitchen.

Jack remained sitting at the kitchen table with Ralph who had started to pepper him with questions. "Jack, what do you do for a living? You got a job here?"

"Well, I've worked in all kind of jobs in my life! But my principal profession is drawing." Jack put his hand on his heart. "I do drawings, portraits mostly."

"So you're an artist!" Ralph exclaimed, his eye's eyes growing big. "Do you travel a lot?"

Jack listed some of the places he had been to throughout the last five years and young Ralph's face started beaming with excitement and a hint of jealousy. "Wow. I've never crossed the borders of this state," the boy said with an edge in his voice.

They got distracted for a short moment when Joseph entered with the water buckets. The old woman added soda and soap flakes to the water in the first bucket and a few moments later, the kitchen was filled with clicking and splashing sounds as she was rubbing scraps of food off the plates.

She then put the cleaned dishes into the second bucket to wash off the soap. From there, Rose would take the dishes to rub them dry with a dish cloth, still lost in her own thoughts.

Jack glanced up at her several times to check if she was alright. Her lips were pressed tightly together, but she forced them into an unnatural smile from time to time, perhaps because she didn't want to worry Mrs. Sullivan who couldn't have fanthomed the effect her son's innocent chit-chat had had on her.

"Where are you going, next?" Ralph asked, eagerly resuming the conversation.

"We're heading west," Jack replied, making a vague gesture to nothing in particular. "Working our way from place to place..."

"You really have to leave so soon? Couldn't you just stay a little longer?" Ralph asked, pleading. Jack sighed, shaking his head. A sad looked crossed the boy's face, reminding Jack, again, of his childhood in Chippewa Falls.

One day, when Jack was around 13, a well dressed gentleman and another man dressed in livery had knocked on their door to ask for help. The chauffeur had driven the gentleman's car into a ditch only one mile from Jack's parent's house and now, they were looking for helping hands to push it out again.

Jack recalled his father's appreciative whistle when they found the car – a beautiful 1904 Oldsmobile. In the wink of an eye, the Dawson family had pushed the car onto the dusty road again.

"The roads around here aren't made for car driving, aren't they?" the well dressed stranger had asked while his chauffeur was starting the engine and Jack had replied in awe that he had never in his life seen anything like this. He must have looked downright flabbergasted because the man had laughed heartily and patted his shoulder before climbing in his seat next to the chauffeur.

When the car took off, Jack had to fight the strong urge to run after them and jump on their vehicle to go wherever they were going and leave his lackluster hometown for good.

"But why did you come here, of all places?" Ralph interrupted his silent reverie.

_Clearly, that boy has a talent for bringing up hurtful subjects_, Jack thought bitterly and although he concentrated hard on it, couldn't fully keep his expression from darkening. "Well… we just needed some time to relax. To take a break…" Jack murmured. He cast a look above his shoulders to see what Rose was doing. Mrs. Sullivan was standing in the corner of the room, engrossed in a conversation with Joseph who was leaning against the wall casually, but the person he'd expected to see was gone.

"Where's Rose?" he gasped in surprise. However, when he saw the baffled look on the Sullivans' faces, he cursed his voice for having given away his worry so easily.

"She said she wanted to get some fresh air in the garden," Joseph told him and his little brother cast a curious glance at Jack.

"Is everything all right with her?" Ralph asked.

"Everything's fine." Jack gave a short titter to disperse the boy's suspicion. "I just wanted to ask her something after dinner," he said to the Sullivan family, getting up.

"Well, ok. Like I said, I think she'll be outside," Joseph repeated, trying to be helpful, but Jack had already walked out of the room before he could finish.

Jack left the house and crossed the front porch at a fast pace, looking for his troubled girlfriend.

"Rose?" He called, trying to sound as casual as possible.

There was no answer.


	9. Never Letting Go

**Never Letting Go**

_Where is she? She couldn't possibly have gone so far... _Jack's heartbeat quickened as his eyes scanned the surroundings hectically. _Damn._ A mere hour ago, he had been so sure he and Rose could just forget their tragic past and move on. However, luck was not on their side today.

"Rose!" he hollered again.

"I'm here, Jack!" she finally called back and he spun around in the direction of her voice. It came from behind the chestnut tree in the backyard, whose trunk was so big that several people could stand behind it without being spotted from the house.

When he found her leaning against its deeply furrowed trunk, she didn't even bother to look up at him. She was too busy trying to light a hand-rolled cigarette, but the fair wind that had sprung up, blew out the matches almost instantly. After watching her for a moment, he asked, "What are you doing here? Are you hiding from someone?"

"I don't want Mrs. Sulllivan to see me smoking, now," she mumbled, still fumbling with the matches and groaned in exasperation as the wind blew out another one.

She lit a third one and in silence, Jack cupped his right hand around the match to shield the flame from the wind. The flame flickered violently for a moment and then disappeared to a thin grey streak of smoke.

"Try again," he prompted her quietly and she got out yet another match from the box. This time, he shielded the flame with both his hands while Rose leant forward with the cigarette in her mouth. This time, the match burnt just long enough to light the cigarette.

"Thanks." She took a deep drag and Jack saw her tense body relax a little.

"You're welcome," he replied, trying to sound as hearty and confident as possible. _Maybe, she's just a little upset and she'll quickly calm herself_, he thought hopefully.

"That was a pretty awkward situation when the boys were asking us if we were married. Have you seen how Mrs. Sullivan was looking at us?" he asked her, once again forcing his voice to a jovial tone. It didn't come out very convincing. Their frowned upon cohabitation was not what was preying on her mind and he knew it only too well.

But Rose was barely listening anyway. The only response she gave was a small shrug.

Jack leaned next to her against the tree, his shoulders barely touching hers. While Rose was focusing again on the act of smoking, he was mentally preparing himself for what was to come. He'd never been a coward but he dreaded the conversation he knew he could no longer avoid.

Rose seemed to know that, because she was giving him time. _Or is she scared, too?_ he wondered. _Yes, she is. But there's more._ He studied her face intently, but it was one of these moments when her emotions were hard to read – even for him.

With the nonchalance of a dock laborer, Rose flipped the stub of her cigarette to the side, causing Jack's lips to curve into a genuine smile in spite of himself, in spite of the situation.

"What is it?" She looked at him, a puzzled frown on her face.

"It's just… you know, the way you do things." His reply only seemed to deepen her confusion. "To think that you were a first class lady on her way to get married... it seems so odd. I can't even imagine you wearing one of those elaborate gowns any longer."

He smiled hopefully at her, again trying his best to cheer her up, but she wasn't receptive to it.

"It's just so… I realized that..." she said, but then trailed off, looking past him. He had already started wondering if he had said something wrong when she finally continued to speak. "Fabrizio... Mr. Andrews... the little girl you were dancing with and her father and all the other people..." Jack winced at hearing their names but Rose continued unperturbedly, "It feels so wrong! It's so hard to accept that so many lives have ended where mine has begun," she finally explained, carefully choosing her words.

The sadness in her eyes was breaking his heart. "Look, Rose, let's just forget it! Imagine Ralph and Joseph had never said those things! It was just bad luck," he said with a pleading tone in his voice.

"_Bad luck_," she echoed, her face tensing again. "It wasn't _bad luck_. Think about it! How many people did we meet, how many people did we actually talk to since we came here? It's been more than a month now and did we ever really try to make friends with anybody? Do you know anybody besides our landlady and her sons by name? We hardly ever talked to people if we didn't have to. We were living in our own little world all the time."

Jack stared into space for a moment. She was right, but he didn't want to hear it. "But the sinking happened two months ago, already. Another couple of months and people will forget it ever happened," he said as optimistically as he could, but Rose shook her head.

"No. That's not what's going to happen. Of course, public interest will eventually wear off a little, but I don't think it is ever going to end. It's not any ship that had sank. It was the ship that men thought was unsinkable, the biggest and most luxurious ship of all time." She paused for a moment, Cal and his swollen-headed entourage appearing in front of her mind's eye. She shook her head again as if trying to shake off the memory, before continuing her speech in a steady voice. "It's not going to end so soon. Even if we lived another hundred years, there'd be a hundred _Titanic_ anniversaries. Maybe they'll even write books or _make films_ about it someday! It won't stop and we can't isolate us from the rest of the world forever! And even if the sinking of the _Titanic_ was somehow magically wiped out of everybody's memories – How could _we_, who had gone through this hell, just forget and move on with our lives, pretending that nothing bad has ever happened?"

He looked at her intently, pondering what she had said and not quite knowing how to respond to it. After dealing with letter to Fabrizio's mother, he had thought that everything was going to be alright. He had thought that they might never have to think of the sinking ever again. Absentmindedly, he let his hand skim over the tree bark, feeling its rippled surface. _We have done everything we could, haven't we? Why is it still haunting us?_ He couldn't fathom why, but for some reason he felt personally defeated.

_Rose was right, this was permanent._ A dark frightening cloud that would cast its shadow upon their days as long as they lived. He couldn't bring back the dead, no matter how much he wanted it. He couldn't turn back time, either. He couldn't even take comfort from the idea that his friends had died a quick and painless death, because he knew that the cold had stabbed them like a thousand knives, mercilessly, until their exhausted bodies drifted to a sleep they'd never wake up from.

Jack squinted his eyes as he stared at the horizon, into the setting sun. Minutes had ticked by already when suddenly, out of nowhere, a thought hit Jack.

"I wouldn't have made it without you," he blurted out, turning around so their eyes could meet. "When I was tied to that damn pipe! The water was waist deep already and rising fast, but you… you came back to me to chop off my handcuffs with an axe." Rose looked at him in bewilderment, his statement surprising her as much as it surprised him.

"But it was me who got you in there in the first place," she finally whispered, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

"No!" He exclaimed loudly. Compared to their previous subdued conversation, he was almost shouting now. "It was Cal who got me in this. It was _you _who'd risked her life to get me out," he said, emphasizing every word.

Her lips curved into a timid smile. "I was so afraid," she said in a little voice.

"I know. I was scared like shit, too." He cupped her face in his hands. "But you came back in spite of everything. What you did was incredibly brave, you know that?"

She gave a hesitant nod. "I don't even know myself where that courage came from."

"Wherever it came from, I'm sure there's plenty more," he said, and tears began forming in her eyes at the honesty and admiration in his voice. She was trembling slightly, but the wind had little to do with it.

"And when you jumped back from the life boat, I just… I was shocked beyond belief that you would do that, that you would refuse to be saved just to be with me." There, he stopped for a second, licking his lips and gathering himself and his jumbled emotions. It might have been easier to talk about this than he had thought, but it still wasn't easy_ per se_. "But at the same time, I was also relieved to know that I won't be alone in this and I swore to myself that we would make it out alive," he said, his voice faltering, but his eyes shining with conviction. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her smile again.

"I wouldn't... I just couldn't have..." she said shakily, but before she could finish her sentence, he crushed her against his chest. She brought up her arms around his neck and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent until the trembling subsided.

Then, she backed off a few inches to look straight into his eyes. "You would have done the same thing for me, Jack. You did everything to make sure I would survive even if it meant that you... that you would..." She felt a new rush of tears welling up in her eyes at the memory and paused for a moment to gulp them down. "When we were in the water, in midst of all these people... screaming… fighting for breath. And the cold… When we found that floating piece of debris and only one of us could fit on it... You gave it to me! You could have swum off or tried to save yourself, but you gave it to me and made sure I was safe!"

"Yes, but another piece of debris had surfaced and I…" Jack began, but Rose cut him off. "It was pure luck that it submerged right next to us, because you wouldn't have moved an inch from my side. Try to remember!" She prompted him and noticing his reluctant expression, she added, "Trust me."

Jack nodded and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back to that fateful night.

He remembered the moment they plunged into the freazing North Atlantic and the closest place to hell he had ever been to. Everywhere around them was chaos, hundreds of men and women screaming, moaning and trashing.

He remembered seeing Rose being pushed down by a panicking man and himself smashing his fist into the man's face until he let go off her.

And then the floating door that he helped Rose climb onto and that was too small to support them both. And the thoughts ringing in his head as he clung to the debris and the cold was creeping its way to his heart. '_I've got to save her. She's not going to die out here. She's not. I've got to save her. No matter what it takes.'_

He remembered that he was already starting to choke on his breath and that his limbs were going numb when Rose pointed to a swimming debris that had surfaced not far from them – another piece of wood that would save his life as the first one would save hers. Like by the hand of some higher force that didn't want him to die that night, it had split from _Titanic_ as she was sinking to her watery grave. There was no doubt that they had both been lucky beyond belief.

_But you were ready to die to make sure she would live!_ an inner voice told him steadfastly and he remembered the words he had let her promise to him:

"_You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... no matter what happens... no matter how hopeless..._ _promise me now, and never let go of that promise."_

"You're right," he whispered as he opened his eyes again that had now filled with tears, too. She pulled him closer, holding him in a tight embrace. And for the first time since the sinking he was able to feel something new and different about that night.

He had stood up for another person! He knew he would have given anything to make sure Rose survived and if that panel of wood hadn't appeared out of the darkness of the Atlantic, he would have died most certainly. Before _Titanic_, He had sometimes questioned himself if one day, he'd be able to commit the ultimate sacrifice: To give his life for a person he loves. In the icy waters of the ocean, he had made that decision in a split second. Jack had always imagined it to be the most difficult decision of his life, when in fact, it was the easiest.

His parents would have been so proud.

xxxxx

The next morning, Rose and Jack were packing their bags in silence. While Jack was walking to and fro in the room, searching for lost things, Rose stood beside the table, folding Jack's and her clothes to neat piles.

When she laid her overcoat on the table, the heart of the ocean dropped out of the pocket, bounced over the edge of the table and landed by Jack's feet, causing him to leap in surprise and to exclaim in exasperation, "You're carrying it around like this? In your coat pocket?"

"Sorry."

"It's ok. Just... find a safer place for it, please." he said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over his face.

"I'll sew a hidden pocket in my skirt like the girl in Paris you told me about. That's the best I can do for now," she said.

He lifted his eyebrows in astonishment. "You know how to do that?"

"Well, that's one of the few things they had taught me in finishing school that I suspect has any merit," she said with a playful smile, and pulled out a needle and threat from their bags.

While she was busy sewing a scrap of fabric to her skirt, Jack bent down to take a closer look of the diamond that was still lying on the wooden floor, glittering tantalizingly in the light of the morning sun. Just looking at it sent a shiver down his spine. _I guess, I'll never get used to seeing this thing_, he thought and picked it up cautiously as if he feared that the blue stone could burn his hand.

"It's so heavy," he said, placing the diamond at the side of the table. "I've forgotten how heavy it is."

"I haven't," Rose stated matter-of-factly and Jack had a hunch that she was not only talking about its physical weight.

He nodded, understanding and continued to put their things in order. Rose sewed in silence, allowing her thoughts to wander.

"You know what?" Jack heard her utter after a some time had passed. "Maybe, it's not a bad thing that the _Titanic_ is going to be remembered. Maybe it's going to change the way people think," she added and looked at his face as if she was planning to say more.

"Yeah... maybe," he said lamely.

She put away her sewing things and slowly stepped closer to him, until they were standing only a few inches apart. He felt her warm breath against his skin as she whispered softly, "I'll never forget that night, Jack." He knew instantly which night she was talking about and took her hand, squeezing it gently. She started crying softly, but when she continued to speak, her voice did not sound the least bit sad or regretful. "I'll never forget what you said to me and I'll never forget what I promised you... And I'm happy about that!"

He brought her hand up to his face and placed a gentle kiss on her fingers, before leaning his forehead against hers. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could still hear the lapping of the waves and the faint echo of her voice.

„_I promise. I will never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."_

_

* * *

_**AN: I had to decide whether I wanted to wait one month until my loyal but very busy beta-reader would revise this chapter **_**or**_** post it right away with hopefully not more than a few mistakes. Well, since I had promised myself to update more frequently, I've posted the unbetaed version. If you have found any mistakes or just want to leave a comment, which I would appreciate very much, please review!**


	10. For The Horizon

**A/N: A huge thank you to RoseDawsonlovesJack for beta-reading ****this chapter****! **

**For the Horizon**

Mrs. Sullivan, Rose and Jack were standing on the porch, saying their goodbye's in the warmth of the late summer morning. "I wish you a very nice travel." The landlady's handshake was firm and warm, and her smile genuine. "Too bad my sons have left yesterday evening! They could have helped you carry your luggage to the station," she said apologetically, pointing to the two large brownish kit bags that leaned next to them against the rail. "but they had to get back to the logging camp."

"Yeah, too bad..." Jack echoed, a little disappointed. He had intended on saying a few last words to Ralph, Mrs. Sullivan's youngest boy who reminded him so much of himself. He hadn't exactly planned what to tell him, but leaving without saying goodbye and maybe uttering some words of encouragement didn't seem right.

"So... I guess, we have to go, now," Jack said, smiling sheepishly. He gave Rose a nod of his head and she grabbed her bag, which, although it was smaller and lighter than Jack's, still threw her a bit off balance as she swung it over her shoulders. Jack didn't seem to mind the weight of his bag that he was carrying down the few stairs of the porch with ease.

Rose waved her free hand one last time before she and Jack left Mrs. Sullivan's property for good. Her cheeks were flushed in anticipation of their adventures to come and Jack, too, had a blissful grin plastered on his face. He shifted the bag to his other shoulder, freeing his hand to grab Rose's.

As their fingers intertwined, Jack flashed her a mischievous smile. "Soon we'll be drinking beer, riding the roller-coaster until we throw up..." he whispered close to her ear, not daring to say it out loud as long as the old lady behind them was still in earshot.

"Ride horses right in the surf..." she added with a twinkle in her eye and they both couldn't help falling into a giggle fit.

She gazed at his boyish face longingly, almost forgetting the weight of the bag on her shoulders. This was the effect he still had on her. When she was with Jack, everything seemed light and easy. Thanks to him, all the boundaries that had kept her contained for so long had melted away, revealing the great open garden that Rose had always known was there and that she finally had the chance to discover.

As the sun climbed up in the milky blue sky, they continued their way to the train station in a jovial mood, talking about how excited they both were that at last, they were about to do what they had so far only dreamt of, about their favorite dishes and what they used to play when they were children. In short, they felt so giddy they were jumping from topic to topic, laughing and joking.

"Take Victor as an example," Jack said, sharing one of his theories of why he hadn't made it in "_old Paree"_, "He was a good friend and I liked him, but he clearly didn't have both oars in the water! And he was a mild case compared to others. I've met artists that weren't bound by anything, not by their wives or children, not by simple laws of humanity and I can't help but think that this is where their genius stems from. Like that Picasso lad that you adore so much, do you know how he treats his mistresses?"

"So, you're saying that every successful cubist or modern artist is a bastard?" Rose gave a quick laugh at the absurdity of it. "And that you didn't make it in Paris because you were too nice?" She shook her head incredulously, her gaze challenging him.

"Well, yes, if you like to put it that way," he stated matter of factly and put on his typical lop-sided grin.

"What are your plans for the future then? To give up drawing or to stop being nice?" she asked, accompanying the statement with a provocative lift of her eyebrow.

"Neither, actually," he said, without missing a beat. As usual, her famous sharp-tonguedness that had never ceased to flabbergast her teachers at school seemed to bounce right off of him. "I'm not worried for the future at all. Wanna know why?"

She nodding eagerly, giggling in response to his impish grin.

"Because," he began, dropped his bag and then, as quick as a wink, grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground. Surprised, she let go of her bag, too and it landed on the road with a dull thud. "Because you are _my muse_, my inspiration! With you everything's possible!" he stated boisterously and started dancing around with her like a madman, still holding her up high and almost tripping at one point, laughing so hard that he had problems to keep his balance.

Rose yelled in glee. She let Jack spin her around in circles, knowing full well that they were acting silly but not caring the least bit about it. _So what if we do? I had been denied a happy childhood. Why not make up for it now? _Jack's giddy laughter was like a symphony to her ears and she closed her eyes, cherishing the moment.

When he stopped and let her down again, his cheeks were red from the effort and from lack of oxygen. Still giggling slightly, he wiped some drops of sweat from his forehead. "Whew!" he panted and let himself drop on the dusty ground. "Now you have to carry _me_ for a while!"

Rose rolled her eyes, but chuckled mildly at his antics. "Get on your feet, Jack Dawson, or we'll miss the train," she demanded, not the least bit indignant. Jack looked at her dreamily for a moment. He loved to hear her say his name.

"Now Jack, come on!" she ordered once more and as he didn't move a muscle, she crouched down next to him and pulled his arm around her shoulders, trying with all her strength to hoist him up. Jack, however, who was visibly unimpressed by her attempts to lift him to his feet, tightened his grip on her shoulder and bent his arm, pulling her body towards his. With a surprised shriek, she landed on his lap.

Now sitting on top of him, she shifted herself into a comfortable position. She locked her eyes with his and gave him a "What now?" look that he answered by straightening his body and slightly tilting up his head, enough to bridge the gap between their lips. Rose barely had the time to throw a quick glance to the left and to the right to check if nobody was watching before his mouth landed on hers.

It started as a soft and gentle kiss, but when Rose kissed him back more and more passionately, Jack became increasingly aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the road – certainly not the right place to allow oneself to be swept away by the rush of feelings and sensations that the touch of her lips was once again awakening in him. _And besides, we still have a train to catch!_ he thought and pulled back slightly. Without opening her eyes, she stubbornly leaned in to follow his lips with hers, so he had to gently push her back. Accompanied by a soft pout, she reluctantly opened her eyes, making it even harder for Jack to be the one to break the kiss.

"Rose," he said hoarsely and cleared his throat before he went on, "We _really_ have to go, now."

"Are we late?" she asked anxiously and seeing Jack nod, she jumped to her feet. They never carried a watch with them and they had never needed one because Jack simply _knew_ what time it was. Rose had often wondered how he did it and had searched his clothes for hidden clocks in an attempt to uncover the secret of this odd talent while Jack had been watching her with barely hidden amusement. Needless to say, she never found any. Nevertheless, his sense of time was as accurate as ever – Rose had tested him many times and he was never more than five minutes off.

The kit bags bouncing on their shoulders, they hurried the last mile to the station until finally, it came into sight. The train station consisted of a small brick building and a platform alongside of the railway tracks. The platform was partially canopied by a small roof that rested on pillars to give shelter to those who waited, but there were no benches or other sitting commodities. Already from afar, Jack and Rose could see that it was still crowded with people. Thus, it was improbable that the train had already passed.

Rose let out a relieved "Phew," and took a deep exhausted breath, slowing down her pace instantly. "We made it!" she cheered.

"Yeah, but it was close. Let's go down and buy tickets," Jack said and grabbed her hand, heading towards the ticket office at the other end of the building. He went ahead, meandering his way through the waiting crowd, yelling, "I'm sorry," and, "Excuse me, would you let me pass?" Rose followed right behind but took her time to gaze at their fellow passengers and their families and friends. She saw young couples saying goodbye to their parents and parents-in-laws, single men leaning casually against the station building with bags like her and Jack's, older men in livery... and amidst the variegated crowd, the familiar face of a young man with brown, tousled hair, waving to them impatiently.

"Jack, stop!" she yelled and when he jerked to a halt and turned around, she pointed to Ralph, who was now elbowing his way to them.

"Well, it's about time!" the boy called out once he was in earshot.

"What's he doing here?" Rose quickly whispered to Jack, "Do you think he..."

"Shh, I don't know," he hushed her and a moment later, Ralph stood next to them, slightly out of breath. "Hello again," Jack greeted him and the three of them shook hands.

"Your mother told us you were at work," Rose said, skeptically eying the small bindle he carried around with him, which looked as if it had been tied and filled in a rush.

"Yes, I am. That is I was. I mean, I thought I..." Ralph stammered and let out a short giddy laughter before he blurted out, "I've got tickets for the train!" As proof, he whipped three railway tickets from his pants pocket. "I hope you haven't bought yours already. I'd like to join you on your trip. If you don't mind, I mean," he added as his gaze traveled from Jack to Rose, looking for a sign of approval.

Frowning, Jack snatched the tickets out of this grip, examining them closely. "These aren't valid," Ralph rattled on but quickly lowered his voice when he noticed that an old man next to him eyed him suspiciously, "They've already been used. Got them from a friend who works for the train company. Just put your thumb on the date when you show it to somebody. They'll only look at them once, so if we manage to pass by the first officer we're having a ride for free."

"How old are you, Ralph?"Rose asked out of the blue and he replied, "16," but then corrected himself when he saw Rose cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, "All right, I'm 15. But I'm turning 16 next month."

"What does your mother think about this?" she continued the interrogation, "Does she even know you are leaving?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "I've moved out of her house when I started working at the logging camp. I know how to take care of myself. She doesn't need to worry. But I'll send her a letter once we get off the train and I'll send her money as often as I can!"

Jack handed the tickets back to him. "We'll talk about it for a second, all right?" he informed Ralph and the boy nodded, watching as Jack and Rose took a few steps to the side where they could discuss matters in private.

"I don't know... what do you think?" Rose asked before they even came to a halt.

"Well... if you don't mind, I'd say yes. Because... I like him. I don't think he'll be any trouble. And if so, we could still send him away. He's old enough to be on his own."

Rose looked thoughtful for a moment, quietly pondering. She knew they had to reach a decision fast because the slight thundering noise of the approaching train could already be heard in the distance, slowly getting louder, closer.

"Besides, he's got three tickets," Jack added another point in Ralph's favor, trying to speed up her decision.

"Fake tickets!" Rose corrected him, speaking louder now, to be heard above the rumbling noise. "What if we get caught?"

"But we won't!" he replied quickly, making a face as if he was surprised how anyone could _not_ be convinced that this was an absolutely safe way of travelling.

The people in the crowd now turned their heads, and everybody started gathering their bags, cases or purses as they watched the train leisurely roll into the station, trailing behind it a thick grey cloud of smoke. It was the moment of truth. Ralph was still watching Jack and Rose, impatiently awaiting their final verdict.

"Let's..." Rose began, but the screaming brakes of the train drowned her voice.

"What?" Jack yelled back.

"I said: Let's take him with us!" she hollered, covering her ears with her hands.

Ralph had tried to read from their lips but it had been to no avail. The only thing he could tell is that they must have reached some form of agreement because they didn't look like they were arguing any longer. Rose was talking, now and Jack responded with a smile and a nod while the porter opened the doors of the railway cars and people started streaming out of the train. Nervously, Ralph shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering what was taking the two of them so long. As Jack and Rose finally turned around and walked towards him with good-natured smiles on their faces, he held his breath in anticipation.

"You can come with us, Ralph!" Jack almost shouted in his ear, clapping him so hard on his back that he stumbled forward a few steps.

"Really?" Ralph yelled excitedly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes. And now hurry up, or there won't be any seats left for us!" Rose said, looking over her shoulder where people had started to line up at the doors to show their tickets to a railway officer before getting on the train.

"Rose, I think it's best if you go first. Ralph, give her our tickets," Jack commanded and Ralph was happy to obey.

Rose, however, seemed to be less pleased with his decision. "Wait a second! Why me?" she sputtered and crossed her arms, refusing to take the tickets Ralph handed over to her.

"Trust me, it's better that way," Jack replied vaguely, "You'll see."

Realizing that most of the other passengers had already gotten on the train, she sighed exasperatedly and snatched the tickets out of Ralphs hand. "Fine. I'll do it!" she grumbled.

Ralph reached for Rose's bag, offering to take it for her with new-found confidence, but she held it firmly in her hands. "I've carried it all the way to the train station so I'm perfectly capable of carrying it into the train," she declared with a stern voice and turned away briskly from the two men, lining up behind their fellow passengers.

Ralph, taken aback by her attitude, shot Jack an uncertain glance. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, incredulously. Jack, who had been watching their exchange with a grin on his face, answered quizzically, "She's a bit particular about that. But don't worry, she's not mad at you."

The ticket collector was a tall man with a well-tended moustache. He was really taking his time with every passenger before he let them pass. _Looks like the word that some people tried to travel with fake tickets had spread already_, Rose thought in a mixture of anger and nervousness. As she watched him work, she felt a lump forming in her throat. The two young men waiting in front of her were subjects of a particularly zealous control. Nervously, Rose touched her curls to feel if they were still in place. A few strands have escaped her tightly pinned up hair and she fixed them hastily, knowing that she had to look absolutely above suspicion to pull this through. At last, the officer gave an affirmative nod to the two men, who then got on the train quickly.

_There's no way we'll get through with this_, she thought but before she could step out of the line, the officer's eyes were set firmly on her.

"Your ticket, Miss," he said in a loud crisp voice and she showed them to him, careful to cover the suspicious date with her thumb.

"These are for me and my, um, two brothers," she said and nervously watched him take them. However, his gaze remained glued to her face and body. Not even taking a cursory glance at the tickets, he murmured, "Of course, Miss, I wish you and your brothers a very nice travel, Miss." This was Jack's signal. In what seemed like one leap, he ran past her and the officer and got on the train, hastily followed by Ralph. Rose smiled at the ticket collector and even curtsied slightly but it took every ounce of her strength not to let her disdain show on her face. The man returned her smile and after he had wished her a nice travel for the billionth time, she turned away from him with a curt, "Thank you," and got on the train, catching up with her travel companions.

As the three of them made their way through the car, Rose nudged Jack's arm. "Why did you want me to show him the tickets?"

"Women are less suspicious, that's all," he answered, shrugging, "and it worked out fine, didn't it?"

"It worked, because the officer was too busy leering at my cleavage line to notice that our tickets weren't valid!" she hissed at him.

"Oh. That's not what I had intended, really. Sorry for that." He lifted his arms in an apologetic gesture. "But you played along well! We owe you a free ride!" he concluded jauntily and placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

His contagious enthusiasm and exuberance made it hard for anybody to be angry at him for long and as Rose was especially susceptible to his charm, she felt herself blushing at his praise. After all, wasn't her performance at the door the proof of her acting abilities?

In the meantime, Ralph had found a compartment that was empty – that is, apart from an old gray-haired men sitting on the end of the bench close to the door, fast asleep and snoring like a log. Jack suppressed a giggle as he walked past him and put their luggage on the storage racks.

With a small, but noticeable shudder, the train sluggishly began to roll out of the station.

xxxx

Ralph kneaded his hands nervously. He felt a bit out of place after Jack had left the compartment, leaving him alone with Rose. He knew he wasn't good with girls and this one was a pistol, so he didn't dare speak up first. She was sitting on the bench opposite of him with a book on her lap, a chuckle escaping her lips every once in a while. He tried not to stare at her too obviously but he didn't have anything to do. _Maybe I should talk to her. But about what?_ His tongue felt too big for his mouth...

The old man in the corner of their compartment was still snoring the day away, his mouth hanging half open. Ralph decided to look out of the window instead, where fields and trees were flashing by. They were on the train for about an hour now and he was already further from home than he'd ever been.

Suddenly, Rose closed her book with a snap, drawing his attention back to her.

"So..." she said and then paused for a moment, apparently mulling over conversation topics, too. "You... don't like cutting down trees anymore?" she finished lamely.

"Not particularly, no," he laughed, "Logging is a very ungrateful business. If you know how to handle an axe and don't mind risking your life for a boss who pays you famine wages, then this job is for you. But I had enough of it!"

"Understandable." Rose nodded, trying (but failing) to suppress the smile that was creeping on her face.

"What is it?" Ralph asked.

Haltingly, she replied, "I'm sorry. It's just... You're even skinnier than Jack! It's hard to imagine you as a burly axe-swinging lumberjack. I'm sorry; I didn't want to offend you."

"That's ok," he answered, pretending that he didn't care, "I didn't actually use an axe that often and if I did, it was a rather small one. I was a climber," he explained. "I used to climb on trees, remove limbs and overhangs, look for hollow spots and the like."

She nodded, interested. "What do you want to do next?"

"I'm not sure, yet. I guess I have to find out what I'm really good at."

"Well... You have the head for heights, don't you? You could build skyscrapers," Rose said half-serious, a smile adorning her pretty face.

Ralph laughed, "That's true! Or I could be stationed in the crow's nest of a ship!" Not even the sinking of the _Titanic_ could have lessened his desire to one day cross the great ocean.

"I don't think I'll board a ship anytime soon," Rose said. After that, an awkward silence was filling the room, interrupted only by the occasional grunt of the old sleeping man.

"You know," Ralph said dreamily when he spoke up again, "when I was up there in the highest trees around on a clear day and I had a great view of the land and of places I've never been before... I saw the vastness and the beauty of it all and I realized that the world was a _huge_ place and I... Well, I guess I want to see as much of it as I can."

"And just head out for the horizon whenever you feel like it," Rose added with a smile and Ralph nodded eagerly in response. "Then you're lucky because that's just what Jack and I are up to!" she said with a twinkle in her eye.


	11. Jack Dawson's Luck

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who have taken their time to review and special thanks to G W Failure who has betaed this chapter!**

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**Jack Dawson's Luck**

The pregnant young woman smiled shyly. "No English," he finally heard her mumble with an accent he couldn't place. He briefly wondered if she would understand French or the bits of Italian he had learnt on his travels, but instead of trying, he simply showed her his sketchbook. Curiously, she skipped through the pictures, which were mostly portraits of his girlfriend. _Rose hugging her legs under her dress, Rose twisting a strand of her hair, Rose's hands opening a newspaper..._ The woman smiled and wobbled her head from side to side like she was following the movement of every charcoal line.

"I would like to draw you if you don't mind," Jack repeated, convinced that even though she couldn't understand his words, she would at least guess their meaning. As expected, she gave him an approving nod, before starting to hastily run her fingers over her face and hair, making sure she was looking as impeccable for him as she could. She shifted on the train seat, pulled herself erect and adopted the serious and tense expression he had seen on the faces of many people that were about to be portrayed. This, of course, was not what Jack was striving for, but he knew from experience that sooner or later, she'd get used to the situation and relax her features, letting her mind return to whatever she was thinking about when he spotted her earlier from outside of her compartment. Hopefully, it'll bring back that dreamy look to her face that had him intrigued. As he waited for this transition to happen, he began to draw the contours of her body—from her black hair to the bulge of her belly—with thin charcoal streaks.

The slight jerking of the train forced Jack to concentrate very hard to keep a steady hand while he was drawing, but he wasn't perturbed; at least not very much so. He was used to bad drawing conditions and this train wasn't shaking half as much as his parent's hay cart on the bumpy road that lead from Chippewa Falls to the neighboring village.

At first, he wondered where this young foreign woman was going all by herself, and pregnant to top it off, but then, his thoughts began circling around Rose and what would happen to their lives if she got pregnant. They were using protection but Jack knew that it could happen anyway. It had happened to friends of his, forcing some of them to gradually settle down and leave the artist's circles they used to frequent. He wondered what Rose would think if the same thing happened to them.

He knew that the air in his lungs and some blank sheets of paper was all they needed. But would it be enough for their son or daughter? Would they have to give up the rootless existence that had almost become a religion to them? Jack shook his head at the thought. It wasn't like him to be brooding over eventualities like that and he concluded that he and Rose would tackle these issues when they arose._You never know what hand you're gonna get dealt next and we are ready for whatever life throws at us_, he thought and smiled when he realized that thinking in plural terms was becoming habitual to him.

He drew until the sun set and his eyes started hurting from the effort to keep them focused on the drawing in the dim evening light. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he laid aside his drawing material and handed the portraits over to his model.

Her first reaction was to let out a shy giggle, but she quickly covered her mouth with her hand for more she examined Jack's drawings of her, the more her eyes shined with admiration.

At last, she pointed to the picture that Jack assumed she liked most. "How much?" she asked and her face almost contorted in concentration as her mouth was carefully forming the words.

Jack thought about it for a moment. She certainly looked like she needed every cent she had and he hated to charge her for anything, but on the other hand, he knew that this attitude was conflicting with his wish to provide for a good meal for Rose and himself, so he decided to take the middle route. "It's five cents for you," he said, holding up five fingers.

The woman nodded in understanding, and started rummaging through her purse. She picked out the coins and gave them to him. He thanked her with a deep bow, raising a smile out of her before he left the room.

After he closed the door behind him, it suddenly dawned on him how quiet the train had become. He tiptoed to the compartment where he was staying with Rose and Ralph and found the two of them fast asleep, sitting next to each other on the bench. The three of them had the compartment for themselves now that the old man had gotten off the train. Next to Ralph, Jack spotted a deck of cards and figured that they must have been playing while he was away. Rose was leaning against the window at her side, supporting her head with her coat that she had wadded into a makeshift pillow. Ralph's head had fallen on Rose's shoulder and Jack felt a little jealous at seeing them so close. _He's just a kid, after all!_ he reassured himself and took the seat opposite of their sleeping figures, next to the window.

The silhouettes of the landscape flashing by were becoming blurrier and blurrier as darkness fell. Feeling exhaustion sweeping through him, he closed his eyes, letting the gentle rocking of the train lull him to sleep.

_Suddenly, the room filled with the soft murmur of strings, apparently coming from one of the other compartments. He pricked his ears to the music and recognized the melody of a popular waltz. The tunes were __light-hearted and lively__ and Jack soon found himself humming along quietly, tapping the rhythm with his feet._

_Through his closed eyelids, he suddenly noticed a white glow that was gradually growing in intensity, like the lights of a cinema after the movie is over. When he opened his eyes, he found the compartment lit in a blinding white light that seemed to emanate from the walls of the train. Jack had to blink a few times until his eyes got used to the brightness. _

_He glanced over at Rose and Ralph, but the two of them were still sleeping, not taking notice of any of these events._

_While he was still making up his mind whether or not he should wake them, he realized that somebody was pulling at the door of their compartment. It opened slowly and squeaking, as if much effort was needed to move it ever so slightly. The door wasn't even half open when the pulling stopped abruptly and the small head of a little fair-haired girl popped up from behind it. She was peeking in the room curiously and when her blue eyes fell on Jack, a smile lit up her tiny face. _

_Jack stared at her as if in a trance, too baffled by the scene that was happening in front of his eyes to properly react, his heart beating violently in his chest. "I found my brother!" she called happily, her crystal clear voice echoing through the train corridor. _

"_Bravo!" a heavy Italian accent came echoing back, followed by the sound of hastily approaching footsteps. They came to a halt by the door and tore it fully open. Jacks heart skipped a beat when he saw Fabrizio stepping into the room and throwing his arms in the air, letting out a cheer that made the whole compartment resonate with his happiness and shook the American back to his senses._

_Jack was about to speak, but Fabrizio had already guessed his thoughts before he could even make a sound. "Oh, scusa!" he whispered to his friend and laid a finger on his mouth. "We have to be quiet!" he told the girl at his side. "Miss Rose and the boy are sleeping!" _

_Jack's sister smiled sheepishly at Fabrizio and then nodded her head. Jack realized with relief that her dress was no longer burning. All he could detect on it were tiny bits of ashes, as if she had been playing too close to the remains of a fireplace and got her dress filthy._

"_I'll go play," the little girl decided and shot Jack and Fabrizio a meaningful look like she wanted to show that she was well aware of the fact that the two men had some sort of unfinished business to work out in private. She waved her delicate hand at them and ran off into the corridor. "Bye Jack! Ciao Fabrizio!" she called in a hushed voice and then she was gone._

_Jack took a few shaky steps towards his friend. "Fabri..." was all he got out and his friend looked at him with a sympathetic expression. They embraced each other cordially. _

"_Can I sit?" Fabrizio asked and looked at the empty seat next to Ralph and Rose._

"_Uh, of course you can!" Jack replied hastily. Fabrizio's sense of restraint has always been alien to him._

"_How are you? Where have you been all this time?" Jack asked after they had taken their seats opposite of each other. _

_Fabrizio smiled and shrugged off Jack's questions. "I just came to play poker with a friend," he said and took the deck of cards that Ralph had put beside him._

"_Ah, I see. Like in the good old times, right?" Jack said, waxing nostalgic. In Paris, they had practiced poker together countless times. Jack knew that the Italian was a cautious player; always calculating probabilities. He, on the other hand relied solely on his intuition when playing poker. When they were betting money in a bar, Fabrizio used to kick his shin whenever Jack made a particularly audacious move, but Jack would continue his path unperturbed, pleading his friend with his eyes to trust his instincts. All in all, they were equally good players, both in their own way. _

_Fabrizio shuffled and dealt the cards with skilled hands as Jack was searching his pockets for betting money. There was no table to play on, so Fabrizio nonchalantly put the cards on the floor. _

_They didn't exchange more than the absolute minimum of words while they were playing, both concentrating hard on their hand of cards. Talking excessively was the first habit they had to learn how to break themselves of in order to be reasonably good poker players. Knowing how to bluff and play well was a skill that determined whether they slept in a bed or under a bridge, had a good meal or were forced to steal leftovers from other people's tables._

_Jack was watching Fabrizio's reactions intently. Keeping a blank expression was not one of his key strengths. Taking that last card had apparently set him at ease. But whatever he had, would it be better than Jack's hand? One more time, the American raised his bet, forcing Fabrizio to go all-in._

_It was the moment of truth. _

_With a triumphant expression, Fabrizio put his cards down. All five were of the same suit._

"_A flush," Jack said, whistling appreciatively. Fabrizio had every right to feel at ease._

"_I win the game, no?" Fabrizio asked, a confident smile spreading on his unshaven face._

_However, Jack loved to keep up the suspense. "A flush... " he said pensively, "is hard to beat. Unless you had, say, a full house..."_

"_A full house? Again? You are a liar, Jack!" the Italian said agitatedly, almost bouncing on his seat in impatience._

"_Oh, come on, did I ever lie to you?" Jack asked, pretending to be offended and he laughed when Fabrizio clenched his fist threateningly. _

"_All right, since you don't have any trust in me, I'll show you." Jack put down his cards, revealing three of a kind and a pair. A full house, just like he had said. Seriously, what are the odds?_

_Fabrizio's jaw dropped. He scooted to the edge of his seat as if he thought that the cards in Jack's hand were an optical illusion that couldn't deceive him anymore if he looked at it more closely. _

"_You lucky son of a bitch!" Fabri called out affectionately, momentarily forgetting his promise not to wake up Rose and Ralph, who were still sleeping soundly, unconcernedly as if they didn't belong to the same world as Jack and Fabrizio._

_Jack was roaring with laughter. "Son of a bitch? Not figlio di puttana?" he asked, feigning surprise._

_Fabrizio giggled, always ready to debate his foul-mouthed expressions, especially when they offered a possibility to drop even more swear words. "We are in America now, aren't we? Lucky Bastardo!" he joked, snorting with laughter and Jack shook his head at his friend's bawdiness, but couldn't help laughing along. He had missed Fabrizio so much. Jack laughed until tears started streaming down his cheeks and he couldn't tell anymore if he was laughing or crying. _

_Finally, their laughter subsided and Fabrizio's face became serious again. "Always the lucky one..." he repeated in an almost solemn voice and nodded his head in the direction of the sleeping Rose._

_Jack felt a wave of guilt crushing down on him."I'm so sorry, Fabrizio. I... I shouldn't have persuaded you to play poker with the two Swedes at the Southampton dock," he stammered. _

"_Stupido!" Fabrizio scolded him gently, but in a serious tone of voice. "You are my friend! Why should I be mad because luck is on your side?" He reached out his hand to Jack's and clasped it in a brief, but firm grip. _

_When Jack let go of Fabrizio's hand, the bright light around them started to fade._

"_I have to go, now," Fabri stated matter-of-factly, his face now hidden in the shadows as darkness was gripping the room. The string quartet suddenly started playing a more melancholy piece of music. This time, Jack knew the lyrics very well._

_Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!_

_E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me;_

_Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee,_

_Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!_

"_Farewell, Jack," someone said from across the room, but even though the voice came from the Italian's seat, it sounded distinctly different from Fabrizio's. Deeper and older. It was the voice of Jack's father that had spoken to him._

_Jack's thoughts were a whirlwind again, unable to land on a single spot. "Farewell," he finally heard himself return the greeting._

_Then the music ended and everything faded to black._

xxxxx

When Jack woke up, he felt a weight leaning against his arm and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that it was Rose, sleeping next to him. Sometime during the night, she must have gotten up and snuggled close to him on the bench.

Sunlight was already creeping its way through the room and a streak of orange light fell on her hair, giving it an even more outstandingly beautiful color. At times like this, being with her made him want to pinch himself to check if it was real or if he would soon wake up on the tattered sheets of the bed in his last apartment in Paris.

Jack shifted a little so he could put his arms around her. When she felt him moving next to her, she mumbled something incomprehensive but didn't wake up.

He had no idea why, but he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

**A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Leave a review! I only have one more chapter planned, so this is the last time your review can have an impact on this story.  
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	12. EPILOGUE

**Epilogue - One Year Later**

The Santa Monica pier was bustling with people of all classes and ages as it always was on a pleasant day like this. Some couples were followed by a whole bunch of children, all dressed up in bright-colored clothes that shone even more in the late afternoon sunlight. Ladies in gorgeous dresses took a stroll after tea, accompanied by their beaus and envious glances of longing from unmarried working class men. A group of taciturn elderly men were standing lined up on the rail, smoking and fishing and a boisterous gang of boys was running all over the place, much to the dismay of the older folks they kept bumping into. But despite these little inconveniences, everybody was chatting and laughing, enjoying the company of their friends, spouses or children and marveling at the numerous attractions the pier had to offer.

Rose deeply inhaled the fresh salty breeze and fixed her gaze on the horizon, where sky and sea met. Although she tried to shield her eyes from the brightness of the afternoon sun, there were little black spots dancing before her eyes as she turned back to Jack, who was standing beside her on the end of the pier. His eyes, too, were set on the ocean and he had his hands in his pockets. The wind was blowing his blond hair into his face no matter how often he tried to tuck it back and he had apparently given up the fight. Twenty feet beneath them, the waves were crashing against the wooden pillars.

They had spent a lovely day at the beach. When arrived in California, their first permanent residence was here, in Santa Monica, not far from the beach. Every morning, Rose would get up early and take the streetcar to the movie companies in downtown Los Angeles, checking their boards for auditions until this became such a timely and financial burden for them both that they decided to relocate to Los Angeles.

Now, they were living in a cramped apartment in the northwest of the city and only "a stone's throw away from the studios," as Jack used to say in his usual optimistic manner, but Rose knew that he, too, was missing Santa Monica and the sound of the waves, eternally crashing to the shores.

"Great idea to come here," Rose said as she curled an arm around Jack's waist and leaned herself against his side for a brief moment. "Uh-huh," he replied, placing a kiss on her red curls.

Their trips to Santa Monica always were a real treat, but today, unlike any other day, Jack had no intention of riding the famous roller coaster. In fact, the mere thought of the vertiginous height and the screams of the tourists in the made his stomach turn.

Today was the 14th of April 1913.

Today a mere year ago, their love had broken all boundaries when Rose had joined him on the bow of the ship. He would never forget the way he held her, the way her lips felt against his as they had shared their first kiss. It was the last time, the Titanic had seen daylight. That's part of the reason why they had come here, today. To celebrate their anniversary.

Again, he let his eyes rest on the ocean, getting lost in the deep blue and thinking back to the boy he once was and who'd spent many hours at this very spot, drawing portraits for 10 cents apiece. Back then, the initial excitement to see the ocean had quickly worn off as he had been far more interested in the attractions of the beach and the joyful crowd who gathered there, anyway. But since he returned here, with Rose's beautiful hands in his, the sight of the ocean mesmerized him like a well-crafted painting. In moments like these, he felt older than his 20 years.

"Did I already tell you what happened a few days ago, when I was selling tickets?" Rose suddenly chirped beside him, interrupting his musings. "A group of kids wanted to see the show but they didn't have enough money with them and were really sad when I told them I couldn't let them in. So I tried to cheer them up with my Mary Pickford impersonation. You know, like I did when we were in the park the other day."

Jack's lips curved into a wide smile as he remembered her striking one theatrical pose after the other, to the great amusement of him and a couple of friends who had come along - including Ralph who they hardly got to see these days since he had fallen in love with a flower seller from Santa Ana. "Yeah," he chuckled, "That was great!" He turned around fully, now, so they were now standing opposite of each other, their sides leaning against the rail.

"Well," she said, "the kids liked it just as much. They were all laughing really hard but there was this one little kid who looked so stricken, I was worried for him. But when I stepped out of my ticket box and reached out my hand to him, he ran away." She made a quick movement with her hand, in emphasis. "I had no idea what was wrong with this boy. But then, the next day, he came to my ticket office and asked me something but I couldn't understand a word he was saying, so..." Rose made a little pause before continuing, partly for dramatic effect and partly to stifle the giggles threatening to escape her throat before the punch line. "I told him to speak up. And then the little boy said 'Would you give me an autograph, Miss Pickford, I'm your greatest fan.'"

Jack snorted with laughter. "You should make use of your comic potential," he urged her, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. It earned him a confused look from her, so he quickly changed his tone to a more serious one. He didn't want her to take his compliment the wrong way. So far, Rose had only been offered a few roles, half of which she had refused or had only been considered a replacement actress and the other half never having been realized due to financial constraints of the respective filming companies. But Rose had never been the one to give up easily and the fact that she had made an impression on at least some directors fueled her ambition to present herself at even more auditions.

"Seriously, you should think about it," Jack tried to convince her, "Why are you always looking for roles in movies that are utterly depressing? Doesn't it take just as much talent for acting to make people laugh to make people cry?"

"This may well be true," Rose replied, haltingly, "but I still believe it's tragedy or drama that moves people in the most profound way. And I think I can more easily relate to tragic roles. I mean, I can _relate_ to people who go through difficult times, or who feel oppressed..." She smiled almost shyly and took his hands in hers. "Although I have been way luckier than them. _Thanks to you_." The last part came out in a whisper.

He gently pulled her towards him until their lips met in a kiss. When Rose realized that they were becoming the center of the attention of the fine folks around them and subconsciously backed off a few inches, but didn't let go of his hands.

"And how's your other job? You have to work tomorrow, don't you?" Jack asked.

"Of course I do!" Rose replied laughing, rolling her eyes at this silly question.

When Rose wasn't auditioning, she was a part time worker at a local nickelodeon, 6 days a week from 4 to 9 PM, unless the projector broke and the start of the show had to be unduly delayed until Daniel, the grumpy owner of the _El Dorado_ could fix it. Rose was his only employee. Besides being ticket seller, bookkeeper, usher and cleaning lady, all in one person, she was also the only target of his practically unpredictable outbursts. But oddly enough, she liked this job quite a lot. She was rather well paid for a female worker, leaving her with enough many to pay the rent when Jack had a bad week with his portraits. She was able to provide for herself and it gave her, the well-brought up lady who had been destined to rely on other people's work and money, a wholly new sense of freedom and independence.

Technically, they even had enough money to put away savings; however, money seemed to be slipping through their hands like sand. As soon as they had a little extra-money on their hands, they would almost instantly spend it on fun fair attractions at the Santa Monica beach, a decent meal in midrange restaurants or boozy evenings with the many friends they have made since they arrived in California. "Economy is a science only practicable for rich people," Jack used to say, loosely quoting his favorite book _Bohemians of the Latin Quarter_ – another work he had read on Rose's recommendation. "It's not for rich people, either," Rose had once replied, "I've been impossibly rich all my life, but I guess I used to have so much of it, that learning to economize money would have seemed to me like learning to economize air."

"What movie is playing in the _El Dorado_ tomorrow?" Jack asked curiously. Today, like every Monday, the nickelodeon was closed and Rose was having a day off. Normally, she enjoyed that he was taking so much interest in the art of her choice and her work at the _El Dorado_, but in this moment, she wished he wouldn't have asked.

"A movie about Titanic," she finally mumbled as casually as she could. It was hard to avoid his gaze when he was so close.

Jack nodded. "Like you said, one day they're gonna make films about it... Who'd have thought it would be happening so fast, huh?" He shrugged, putting on a lopsided grimace.

Rose shook her head and clarified that they had already started to shot the film during May last year.

"Only a few weeks after... it happened," Jack muttered vaguely, as if he was talking about a dirty secret. "And who's starring? Anybody we know?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Rose responded, shaking her head. She hadn't planned on talking about this, but now that they had touched on the subject, there was no holding her back. "I don't remember her face, but she's somebody I _ought_ to know. It's Dorothy Gibson, an actress and Broadway singer. From what I gathered, she was an actual passenger who traveled on the Titanic, first class with her mother. They got off with the first lifeboat. But anyway, I think I'm going to watch it. When it's still playing by the end of the week and Daniel lets me see it. I want to know how they're going to portray the sinking. You know, if they address any of the mistakes the White Star Line that..." She broke off in mid-sentence, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that her voice had gotten increasingly louder. "But you know how I think about these things," she finished lamely. This was neither the time nor the place to give vent to the fury within her.

Jack nodded and gave her a small smile. "Seems like Miss Gibson has found a way to deal with her experiences," he said. His good nature was almost inexhaustible.

"It's a decent movie, at least that's what Daniel told me about it. He usually has a good taste in films and he seems quite taken with this one. Last week, he told me a hundred times that Dorothy Gibson was wearing the same dress in the movie that she had worn on the day of the sinking." On his rare nice days, her boss let her take a break and watch the newest film productions for free or ask her for her opinion on which movies to include in the program.

Jack shot her a curious look. "You have some great stories to share since you're working for him..." The statement escaped him before he could bite his tongue.

Her head snapped up instantly. "Jack, you're not jealous of him, aren't you?" she retorted in a half mocking, half flattered tone of voice.

"Who said I was? I'm just happy you found a job you like... Hey, don't you believe I do?" he asked, laughing in response to her skeptical look. "Ok, maybe I am a little jealous because he gets to spent more time with you than me - at least during the day..." he put his hand on her cheek. A few streaks of hair danced freely around her face, tickling his arm. "Sometimes, I'm counting the minutes until you leave work and we can finally spend time together," he said out of the blue. His fingers started moving across her eyebrows, lips, tracing the contours of the face that he knew he could draw with his eyes closed, but never wanted to stop looking at. "While I'm sitting at home, all alone..." he complained and put on a pouty face to make her laugh.

"I do, too," she confessed as her fingers started toying with his suspenders. "But that's something I like about having a job. I always have something to look forward to! And besides... don't you remember when I told you that these hands were made for work?" Grinning, she held up her hands that still, after all these months didn't look like worker's hands to Jack.

"As if I could forget," he said with a twinkle in his eye. He took her hands that she was still holding up for his inspection and laced her fingers with his. Even he couldn't deny that she had finally found a niche in his world.

xxxxx

They took the last streetcar from Santa Monica to Los Angeles, intending to spend the rest of the day at home. After eating, they sat together at the table in the corner of their apartment they called "kitchen".

The tranquil evening atmosphere was in stark contrast to the turmoil in Rose's head as she skipped through the pages of the local newspaper, carefully reading every article. Like she had foretold Jack the day they had talked about the sinking next to Mrs. Sullivan's house, the Titanic anniversary would not pass without notice from the press.

Next to a recapitulation of last year's inquiry and recommended changes of maritime policy that she had already skimmed through and discovered it didn't hold any new information, the journal had printed the testimony a first class survivor who had lost her husband and adolescent son in the wreck.

The agitated drumming of her fingers on the table was driving Jack mad, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop her from taking all this upon herself. In the time after they had left Mrs. Sullivan's house, Rose became an avid reader of everything related to the British investigations into the disaster and an eloquent specialist on maritime policy. "The sinking was not an accident and the next time I read of any White Star Line official claiming otherwise, I'll lose all civility!" she told him one day, her voice high-pitched with anger. "The lookouts didn't even have binoculars, for God's sake!"

As much as these outbursts were a relief for Rose, to Jack they had the effect of a punch in the gut. If he held a grudge against the White Star Line, it was a very quiet one. The thought that his friend's deaths could easily have been prevented confused and irritated him, even though he couldn't argue with Rose's logic when she explained down to the last detail how the White Star Line had over years chosen safety over profit. But the wisdom of hindsight wouldn't bring back Fabrizio or Tommy or any of the 1517 lost souls and he preferred to dedicate this night to the commemoration of the victims of the _Titanic_ disaster.

Since last week, he was carving a boat of the size of a children's toy but with a small recess to hold a candle. His work was almost finished, now. While Rose was reading the newspapers this evening, he was polishing it diligently, blowing wood dust out of the open window from time to time.

Their view of the sky was blocked by a row of brick apartment buildings and when Rose put down the journal article and looked outside, she saw that they had taken on an orange glow from the sinking sun. Three floors below, neighbor children were playing marbles on the concrete ground and their laughter and cursing echoed between the walls of the houses.

Although Rose was sure that they wouldn't stay in this place for long, it was their longest residence since they had set foot on dry land and somehow, this room that hardly even matched the size of her dressing room on the _Titanic_ had become a home to her. She and Jack had even fixed a broken piece of the scarce furniture, polished the table and stuck drawings to the bare walls, which was more than they had ever invested in any other place they had rented throughout their journey to California. "I know every floor panel in this apartment," Rose sometimes joked, grinning at Jack conspiratorially. "I hope you do," he usually replied. After all, the heart of the ocean was hidden under one of these panels and only the two of them knew about it.

Their "bedroom" was a simple mattress by the door. When they went to bed, they always lay entangled in an embrace and somehow managed to sleep on it although it small even for one person.

This night, they went to sleep much earlier than usual. They knew they would need the rest.

xxxxx

"It's time, Rose."

His voice softly carried her out of the sleep that had overcome her after all, despite the restlessness that she had felt earlier that night. Yawning, she sat up, her eyes searching Jack's in the darkness. He was standing next to her side of the mattress, getting dressed already.

"You don't have to come, if you don't want to," he said in a low and strangely monotonous voice.

She shook her head before he even got to finish the sentence. In one quick move, she pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. "Don't be silly, Jack," she said. "Of course, I'll be coming with you."

A few minutes later, they were out on the streets, holding each other's hands tightly. Jack was walking with determination, but Rose had a hard time to find sure footing in the labyrinth of dimly lit alleyways that Jack called "a shortcut".

As they crossed the cobblestone street, she lost her balance and would have landed ungently on her bottom if Jack hadn't managed to catch her in mid-air. Supported by his arms, she quickly stood up straight again, her heart beating violently. Jack looked down at her feet without loosening his grip on her shoulders.

Nothing on earth could have persuaded her to ever squeeze herself into a corset again, but she still had a weakness for elegant footwear. When she saw him eying her high-heeled shoes critically, she let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't know what had gotten into me when I put these on. I know I shouldn't have," she stammered.

On a normal day, Jack would have come up with a little joke to make her smile and ease her discomfort, but right now, his head felt empty. Instead of the witty remark, he placed a light kiss on her temple. "It's ok. We'll just walk a little slower. No need to hurry," he said in a soothing voice and slowly let go of her shoulders.

It was an eerie hour to walk around this part of the town. Even the main street of their quarter was almost ghostly quiet, making the few sounds – the clicking of her heels on the cobblestone street, the hiss of a cat, the hiccup of a drunkard - seem disproportionally loud.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. At this time of the year, the river still meandered through the area, though it has shrunken considerably since the rainy January day when Jack and Rose moved to Los Angeles. Gas lights lined the nearby pavements on each side of the street, but their light didn't reach the water. From afar, the river looked as if a thick mass of black tar was floating upon his surface.

Rose watched Jack pull out a candle of one breast pocket of his grey vest and the boat he had just finished carving of the other. Patiently, he planted the candle in the middle of the boat, in the designated spot. The hull of the boat fit perfectly in his palm and for a moment, he caressed its surface with his thumb as if to make sure he had done a good job on it.

Rose was shivering in the cool night breeze and hugged herself under her long overcoat. Jack was only wearing a shirt and a light vest but he didn't appear to be the least bothered by the cold. It was one of these moments when he seemed almost oblivious to what was going on around him. Finally, he pulled out a box of matches and lit the candle of the boat he was still carrying on his hand and slowly, very slowly walked to the river as if he was carrying an injured duck. He knelt down beside the water and let the boat slide onto it, carefully. It jiggled a bit from one side to the other, but then the current got hold of it and drifted it away from the riverside, where Jack was still kneeling, his eyes fixed on the tiny light.

"Do you think the light will make it to the ocean?" Rose had asked him softly when he had started carving the boat one week ago, her voice soft and gentle like she was afraid that this question could upset or frighten him. "No, of course not. But that's not the point," he remembered himself replying, but now, he felt enormously relieved that the water didn't overturn the candle right away. He hoped it'll stay afloat as long as possible.

Rose walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It looks beautiful," she said simply. The candle had now been pulled to the center of the stream and was constantly gaining speed.

The ritual only lasted a few minutes. In awe, they watched the little boat on its drift downstream till the point where the river made a bend to the left and carried it out of their sight. By the time it was gone, Jack's eyes had filled with tears. Rose was still standing close-by, massaging his shoulder and trying her best to comfort him although she felt herself tearing up as well.

Her mind was spinning with the faces of the men that were denied access or didn't make it to the life boats in time. She saw Mr. Andrew's almost impish smile when he walked about the boat deck, quietly enjoying the result of his craftsmanship and the face of that other Mr. Andrews that had been standing in the knee-deep water in the first class dining hall; the broken shell of a man destined to go down with his creation. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at the starry night sky, one arm still wrapped around Jack's shoulders.

xxxxx

They stayed at the riverside until dawn crept up. Rose's neck felt like a knot and her body was aching from the unfamiliar crouching position she sat in throughout several hours. The birds had started singing hours ago and the stream babbled along softly. It amazed her how different this place looked in the sunlight.

Despite the pinching sensation in her muscles, she stretched herself like she attempted to hug the air with her arms and then turned around to find Jack sitting close to her. His eyes were as bloodshot as she was sure hers were as well.

She reached out to lightly touch his cheek. "How do you feel?" she asked him in a low voice.

He got up slowly and started brushing off dirt of his clothes. "I'm fine," he replied, "Let's get home and catch up some sleep. Come on!" he said as he held out his hand to hers and pulled her up from the ground.

**-END-**

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**A/N: The Titanic survivor Dorothy Gibson really starred the first Titanic movie ever made. I didn't make that up. Sadly, **_**Saved from the Titanic**_** is today considered a lost film (apparently, the only copy was destroyed in a fire in 1914). Mary Pickford was a real person as well. She was one of the first movie stars in history.  
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**So, this is it! Thanks to everyone who told me they didn't want this story to end. I guess, I didn't want it to end either, considering how long it took me to finish the final chapter. But this fic is called _Recovery_ and I think I've delved deep enough into the character's suffering throughout the 12 chapters of this story. It only remains for me to thank everybody who alerted, favorited and (even better!) reviewed this fic! Thanks a million times for bearing with me despite the long delays between the updates. And thanks of course to my awesome beta readers G. W. Failure (chapter 1 – 8, 11 - 12) and RoseDawsonlovesJack (chapter 10)! I owe you a great deal and I seriously hope you continue to beta for this fandom!**


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